THE 

PRECIPICE 


ELIAW.PEATTIE 


THE  PRECIPICE 


Painted  by  Howard  E.  Smith 


KATE  HARRINGTON 


THE  PRECIPICE 

A  Navel 


BY 


ELIA  W.  PEATTIE 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

re^  Cambri&0e 
1914 


COPYRIGHT,    1914,    BY    ELIA  W.    FEATTIE 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  Februar 


A  fanfare  of  trumpets  is  blowing  to  which 
women  the  world  over  are  listening.  They 
listen  even  against  their  wills,  and  not  all  of 
them  answer,  though  all  are  disturbed.  Shut 
their  ears  to  it  as  they  will,  they  cannot 
wholly  keep  out  the  clamor  of  those  trumpets, 
but  whether  in  thrall  to  love  or  to  religion,  to 
custom  or  to  old  ideals  of  self-obliterating  duty, 
they  are  stirred.  They  move  in  their  sleep, 
or  spring  to  action,  and  they  present  to  the 
world  a  new  problem,  a  new  force  —  or  a 
new  menace.  , 


2137599 


THE  PRECIPICE 


i 

IT  was  all  over.  Kate  Harrington  had  her  degree 
and  her  graduating  honors ;  the  banquets  and  break 
fasts,  the  little  intimate  farewell  gatherings,  and  the 
stirring  convocation  were  through  with.  So  now  she 
was  going  home. 

With  such  reluctance  had  the  Chicago  spring 
drawn  to  a  close  that,  even  in  June,  the  campus 
looked  poorly  equipped  for  summer,  and  it  was  a 
pleasure,  as  she  told  her  friend  Lena  Vroom,  who  had 
come  with  her  to  the  station  to  see  her  off,  to  think 
how  much  further  everything  would  be  advanced 
"down-state." 

"To-morrow  morning,  the  first  thing,"  she  de 
clared,  "  I  shall  go  in  the  side  entry  and  take  down 
the  garden  shears  and  cut  the  roses  to  put  in  the 
Dresden  vases  on  the  marble  mantelshelf  in  the 
front  room." 

"Don't  try  to  make  me  think  you  're  domestic," 
said  Miss  Vroom  with  unwonted  raillery. 

"Domestic,  do  you  call  it?"  cried  Kate.  "It 
is  n't  being  domestic;  it  's  turning  in  to  make  up  to 
lady  mother  for  the  four  years  she's  been  deprived 

i 


THE  PRECIPICE 

of  my  society.  You  may  not  believe  it,  but  that's 
been  a  hardship  for  her.  I  say,  Lena,  you'll  be  com 
ing  to  see  me  one  of  these  days?" 

Miss  Vroom  shook  her  head. 

"I  haven't  much  feeling  for  a  vacation,"  she 
said.  "  I  don't  seem  to  fit  in  anywhere  except  here 
at  the  University." 

"I've  no  patience  with  you,"  cried  Kate.  "Why 
you  should  hang  around  here  doing  graduate  work 
year  after  year  passes  my  understanding.  I  declare 
I  believe  you  stay  here  because  it's  cheap  and 
passes  the  time;  but  really,  you  know,  it's  a  make 
shift." 

"It's  all  very  well  to  talk,  Kate,  when  you  have 
a  home  waiting  for  you.  You  're  the  kind  that  always 
has  a  place.  If  it  was  n't  your  father's  house  it 
would  be  some  other  man's —  Ray  McCrea's,  for  ex 
ample.  As  for  me,  I  'm  lucky  to  have  acquired  even 
a  habit  —  and  that's  what  college  is  with  me  — 
since  I've  no  home." 

Kate  Barrington  turned  understanding  and  com 
passionate  eyes  upon  her  friend.  She  had  seen  her 
growing  a  little  thinner  and  more  tense  every  day ; 
had  seen  her  putting  on  spectacles,  and  fighting 
anaemia  with  tonics,  and  yielding  unresistingly  to 
shabbiness.  Would  she  always  be  speeding  breath 
lessly  from  one  classroom  to  another,  palpitantly 
yet  sadly  seeking  for  the  knowledge  with  which 
she  knew  so  little  what  to  do? 

The  train  came  thundering  in  —  they  were  wait- 

2 


THE   PRECIPICE 

ing  for  it  at  one  of  the  suburban  stations  —  and 
there  was  only  a  second  in  which  to  say  good-bye. 
Lena,  however,  failed  to  say  even  that  much.  She 
pecked  at  Kate's  cheek  with  her  nervous,  thin  lips, 
and  Kate  could  only  guess  how  much  anguish  was 
concealed  beneath  this  aridity  of  manner.  Some 
sense  of  it  made  Kate  fling  her  arms  about  the  girl 
and  hold  her  in  a  warm  embrace. 

"Oh,  Lena,"  she  cried,  "I'll  never  forget  you  — 
never!" 

Lena  did  not  stop  to  watch  the  train  pull  out.  She 
marched  away  on  her  heelless  shoes,  her  eyes  down 
cast,  and  Kate,  straining  her  eyes  after  her  friend, 
smiled  to  think  there  had  been  only  Lena  to  speed 
her  drearily  on  her  way.  Ray  McCrea  had,  of  course, 
taken  it  for  granted  that  he  would  be  informed  of 
the  hour  of  her  departure,  but  if  she  had  allowed 
him  to  come  she  might  have  committed  herself  in 
some  absurd  way  —  said  something  she  could  not 
have  lived  up  to. 

As  it  was,  she  felt  quite  peaceful  and  more  at  lei 
sure  than  she  had  for  months.  She  was  even  at  lib 
erty  to  indulge  in  memories  and  it  suited  her  mood 
deliberately  to  do  so.  She  went  back  to  the  day 
when  she  had  persuaded  her  father  and  mother  to 
let  her  leave  the  Silvertree  Academy  for  Young 
Ladies  and  go  up  to  the  University  of  Chicago.  She 
had  been  but  eighteen  then,  but  if  she  lived  to  be  a 
hundred  she  never  could  forget  the  hour  she  streamed 

3 


THE   PRECIPICE 

with  five  thousand  others  through  Hull  Gate  and  on 
to  Cobb  Hall  to  register  as  a  student  in  that  young, 
aggressive  seat  of  learning. 

She  had  tried  to  hold  herself  in;  not  to  be  too 
"heady" ;  and  she  hoped  the  lank  girl  beside  her  — 
it  had  been  Lena  Vroom,  delegated  by  the  League 
of  the  Young  Women's  Christian  Association  —  did 
not  find  her  rawly  enthusiastic.  Lena  conducted 
her  from  chapel  to  hall,  from  office  to  woman's  build 
ing,  from  registrar  to  dean,  till  at  length  Kate  stood 
before  the  door  of  Cobb  once  more,  fagged  but  not 
fretted,  and  able  to  look  about  her  with  appraising 
eyes. 

Around  her  and  beneath  her  were  swarms,  liter 
ally,  of  fresh-faced,  purposeful  youths  and  maidens, 
an  astonishingly  large  number  of  whom  were  meeting 
after  the  manner  of  friends  long  separated.  Later 
Kate  discovered  how  great  a  proportion  of  that  en 
thusiasm  took  itself  out  in  mere  gesture  and  voci 
feration  ;  but  it  all  seemed  completely  genuine  to  her 
that  first  day  and  she  thought  with  almost  ecstatic 
anticipation  of  the  relationships  which  soon  would 
be  hers.  Almost  she  looked  then  to  see  the  friend- 
who-was-to-be  coming  toward  her  with  miraculous 
recognition  in  her  eyes. 

But  she  was  none  the  less  interested  in  those  who 
for  one  reason  or  another  were  alien  to  her  —  in 
the  Japanese  boy,  concealing  his  wistfulness  beneath 
his  rigid  breeding;  in  the  Armenian  girl  with  the  sad, 
beautiful  eyes;  in  the  Yiddish  youth  with  his  bashful 

4 


THE  PRECIPICE 

earnestness.  Then  there  were  the  women  past  their 
first  youth,  abstracted,  and  obviously  disdainful  of 
their  personal  appearance;  and  the  girls  with  heels 
too  high  and  coiffures  too  elaborate,  who  laid  them 
selves  open  to  the  suspicion  of  having  come  to  col 
lege  for  social  reasons.  But  all  appealed  to  Kate. 
She  delighted  in  their  variety — yes,  and  in  all  these 
forms  of  aspiration.  The  vital  essence  of  their  spir 
its  seemed  to  materialize  into  visible  ether,  rose-red 
or  violet-hued,  and  to  rise  about  them  in  evanishing 
clouds. 

She  was  recalled  to  the  present  by  a  brisk  conduc 
tor  who  asked  for  her  ticket.  Kate  hunted  it  up  in 
a  little  flurry.  The  man  had  broken  into  the  choic 
est  of  her  memories,  and  when  he  was  gone  and 
she  returned  to  her  retrospective  occupation,  she 
chanced  upon  the  most  irritating  of  her  recollec 
tions.  It  concerned  an  episode  of  that  same  first  day 
in  Chicago.  She  had  grown  weary  with  the  standing 
and  waiting,  and  when  Miss  Vroom  left  her  for  a 
moment  to  speak  to  a  friend,  Kate  had  taken  a  seat 
upon  a  great,  unoccupied  stone  bench  which  stood 
near  Cobb  door.  Still  under  the  influence  of  her 
high  idealization  of  the  scene  she  lost  herself  in 
happy  reverie.  Then  a  widening  ripple  of  laughter 
told  her  that  something  amusing  was  happening. 
What  it  was  she  failed  to  imagine,  but  it  dawned 
upon  her  gradually  that  people  were  looking  her 
way.  Knots  of  the  older  students  were  watching 

5 


THE   PRECIPICE 

her ;  bewildered  newcomers  were  trying,  like  herself, 
to  discover  the  cause  of  mirth.  At  first  she  smiled 
sympathetically;  then  suddenly,  with  a  thrill  of 
mortification,  she  perceived  that  she  was  the  object 
of  derision. 

What  was  it?  What  had  she  done? 

She  knew  that  she  was  growing  pale  and  she  could 
feel  her  heart  pounding  at  her  side,  but  she  managed 
to  rise,  and,  turning,  faced  a  blond  young  man  near 
at  hand,  who  had  protruding  teeth  and  grinned  at 
her  like  a  sardonic  rabbit. 

"Oh,  what  is  it,  please?"  she  asked. 

"That  bench  is  n't  for  freshmen,"  he  said  briefly. 

Scarlet  submerged  the  pallor  in  Kate's  face. 

"Oh,  I  did  n't  know,"  she  gasped.   " Excuse  me." 

She  moved  away  quickly,  dropping  her  hand-bag 
and  having  to  stoop  for  it.  Then  she  saw  that  she 
had  left  her  gloves  on  the  bench  and  she  had  to  turn 
back  for  those.  At  that  moment  Lena  hastened  to  her. 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  she  cried.  "I  ought  to  have 
warned  you  about  that  old  senior  bench." 

Kate,  disdaining  a  reply,  strode  on  unheeding. 
Her  whole  body  was  running  fire,  and  she  was  furi 
ous  with  herself  to  think  that  she  could  suffer  such 
an  agony  of  embarrassment  over  a  blunder  which, 
after  all,  was  trifling.  Struggling  valiantly  for  self- 
command,  she  plunged  toward  another  bench  and 
dropped  on  it  with  the  determination  to  look  her 
world  in  the  face  and  give  it  a  fair  chance  to  stare 
back. 

6 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Then  she  heard  Lena  give  a  throaty  little  squeak. 

"Oh,  my!  "she  said. 

Something  apparently  was  very  wrong  this  time, 
and  Kate  was  not  to  remain  in  ignorance  of  what  it 
was.  The  bench  on  which  she  was  now  sitting  had 
its  custodian  in  the  person  of  a  tall  youth,  who 
lifted  his  hat  and  smiled  upon  her  with  commingled 
amusement  and  commiseration. 

"Pardon,"  he  said,  "but—" 

Kate  already  was  on  her  feet  and  the  little  gusts 
of  laughter  that  came  from  the  onlookers  hit  her 
like  so  many  stones. 

"Is  n't  this  seat  for  freshmen  either?"  she  broke 
in,  trying  not  to  let  her  lips  quiver  and  determined  to 
show  them  all  that  she  was,  at  any  rate,  no  coward. 

The  student,  still  holding  his  hat,  smiled  lan 
guidly  as  he  shook  his  head. 

"  I  'm  new,  you  see,"  she  urged,  begging  him  with 
her  smile  to  be  on  her  side,  —  "dreadfully  new! 
Must  I  wait  three  years  before  I  sit  here?" 

"  I  'm  afraid  you'll  not  want  to  do  it  even  then," 
he  said  pleasantly.   "You  understand  this  bench  - 
the  C  bench  we  call  it  —  is  for  men ;  any  man  above 
a  freshman." 

Kate  gathered  the  hardihood  to  ask:  — 

"  But  why  is  it  for  men,  please?" 

"  I  don't  know  why.  We  men  took  it,  I  suppose." 
He  wasn't  inclined  to  apologize  apparently;  he 
seemed  to  think  that  if  the  men  wanted  it  they  had 
a  right  to  it. 

7 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"This  bench  was  given  to  the  men,  perhaps?"  she 
persisted,  not  knowing  how  to  move  away. 

"No,"  admitted  the  young  man;  "I  don't  believe 
it  was.  It  was  presented  to  the  University  by  a 
senior  class." 

"A  class  of  men?" 

"Naturally  not.  A  graduating  class  is  composed 
of  men  and  women.  C  bench,"  he  explained,  "is 
the  center  of  activities.  It's  where  the  drum  is 
beaten  to  call  a  mass  meeting,  and  the  boys  gather 
here  when  they've  anything  to  talk  over.  There's 
no  law  against  women  sitting  here,  you  know.  Only 
they  never  do.  It  is  n't  —  oh,  I  hardly  know  how  to 
put  it  —  it  is  n't  just  the  thing  — " 

"Can't  you  break  away,  McCrea?"  some  one 
called. 

The  youth  threw  a  withering  glance  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  speaker. 

"  I  can  conduct  my  own  affairs,"  he  said  coldly. 

But  Kate  had  at  last  found  a  way  to  bring  the  in 
terview  to  an  end. 

"I  said  I  was  new,"  she  concluded,  flinging  a 
barbed  shaft.  ' '  I  thought  it  was  share  and  share  alike 
here  —  that  no  difference  was  made  between  men 
and  women.  You  see —  I  did  n't  understand." 

The  C  bench  came  to  be  a  sort  of  symbol  to  her 
from  then  on.  It  was  the  seat  of  privilege  if  not  of 
honor,  and  the  women  were  not  to  sit  on  it. 

Not  that  she  fretted  about  it.  There  was  no  time 
for  that.  She  settled  in  Foster  Hall,  which  was  de- 

8. 


THE  PRECIPICE 

voted  to  the  women,  and  where  she  expected  to 
make  many  friends.  But  she  had  been  rather  un 
fortunate  in  that.  The  women  were  not  as  coopera 
tive  as  she  had  expected  them  to  be.  At  table,  for 
example,  the  conversation  dragged  heavily.  She  had 
expected  to  find  it  liberal,  spirited,  even  gay,  but  the 
girls  had  a  way  of  holding  back.  Kate  had  to  con 
fess  that  she  did  n't  think  men  would  be  like  that. 
They  would  —  most  of  them  —  have  understood 
that  the  chief  reason  a  man  went  to  a  university 
was  to  learn  to  get  along  with  his  fellow  men  and  to 
hold  his  own  in  the  world.  The  girls  labored  under 
the  idea  that  one  went  to  a  university  for  the  exclu 
sive  purpose  of  making  high  marks  in  their  studies. 
They  put  in  stolid  hours  of  study  and  were  quietly 
glad  at  their  high  averages;  but  it  actually  seemed 
as  if  many  of  them  used  college  as  a  sort  of  shelter 
rather  than  an  opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  per 
sonality. 

However,  there  were  plenty  of  the  other  sort  — 
gallant,  excursive  spirits,  and  as  soon  as  Kate  be 
came  acquainted  she  had  pleasure  in  picking  and 
choosing.  She  nibbled  at  this  person  and  that  like 
a  cautious  and  discriminating  mouse,  venturing  on 
a  full  taste  if  she  liked  the  flavor,  scampering  if  she 
did  n't. 

Of  course  she  had  her  furores.  Now  it  was  for 
settlement  work,  now  for  dramatics,  now  for  danc 
ing.  Subconsciously  she  was  always  looking  about 
for  some  one  who  "needed"  her,  but  there  were  few 

9 


THE  PRECIPICE 

such.  Patronage  would  have  been  resented  hotly, 
and  Kate  learned  by  a  series  of  discountenancing 
experiences  that  friendship  would  not  come  —  any 
more  than  love  —  at  beck  and  call. 

Love! 

That  gave  her  pause.  Love  had  not  come  her  way. 
Of  course  there  was  Ray  McCrea.  But  he  was  only 
a  possibility.  She  wondered  if  she  would  turn  to 
him  in  trouble.  Of  that  she  was  not  yet  certain.  It 
was  pleasant  to  be  with  him,  but  even  for  a  gala 
occasion  she  was  not  sure  but  that  she  was  hap 
pier  with  Honora  Daley  than  with  him.  Honora 
Daley  was  Honora  Fulham  now  —  married  to  a 
"dark  man"  as  the  gypsy  fortune-tellers  would  have 
called  him.  He  seemed  very  dark  to  Kate,  menac 
ing  even;  but  Honora  found  it  worth  her  while  to 
shed  her  brightness  on  his  tenebrosity,  so  that  was, 
of  course,  Honora's  affair. 

Kate  smiled  to  think  of  how  her  mother  would  be 
questioning  her  about  her  "admirers,"  as  she  would 
phrase  it  in  her  mid-Victorian  parlance.  There  was 
really  only  Ray  to  report  upon.  He  would  be  the 
beau  ideal  "young  gentleman,"  —  to  recur  again  to 
her  mother's  phraseology,  —  the  son  of  a  member 
of  a  great  State  Street  dry-goods  firm,  an  excellently 
mannered,  ingratiating,  traveled  person  with  the 
most  desirable  social  connections.  Kate  would  be 
able  to  tell  of  the  two  mansions,  one  on  the  Lake 
Shore  Drive,  the  other  at  Lake  Forest,  where  Ray 
lived  with  his  parents.  He  had  not  gone  to  an  East- 

10 


THE  PRECIPICE 

ern  college  because  his  father  wished  him  to  under 
stand  the  city  and  the  people  among  whom  his  life 
was  to  be  spent.  Indeed,  his  father,  Richard  Mc- 
Crea,  had  made  something  of  a  concession  to  custom 
in  giving  his  son  four  years  of  academic  life.  Ray 
was  now  to  be  trained  in  every  department  of  that 
vast  departmental  concern,  the  Store,  and  was  soon 
to  go  abroad  as  the  promising  cadet  of  a  famous 
commercial  establishment,  to  make  the  acquaint 
ance  of  the  foreign  importers  and  agents  of  the 
house.  Oh,  her  mother  would  quite  like  all  that, 
though  she  would  be  disappointed  to  learn  that 
there  had  thus  far  been  no  rejected  suitors.  In  her 
mother's  day  every  fair  damsel  carried  scalps  at  her 
belt,  figuratively  speaking  —  and  after  marriage, 
became  herself  a  trophy  of  victory.  Dear  "mum-  * 
my"  was  that,  Kate  thought  tenderly  —  a  willing 
and  reverential  parasite,  "ladylike"  at  all  costs, 
contented  to  have  her  husband  provide  for  her,  her 
pastor  think  for  her,  and  Martha  Underwood,  the 
domineering  "help"  in  the  house  at  Silvertree,  do 
the  rest.  Kate  knew  "  mummy's "  mind  very  well 
—  knew  how  she  looked  on  herself  as  sacred  because 
she  had  been  the  mother  to  one  child  and  a  good 
wife  to  one  husband.  She  was  all  swathed  around  in 
the  chiffon-sentiment  of  good  Victoria's  day.  She 
did  n't  worry  about  being  a  "consumer"  merely. 
None  of  the  disturbing  problems  that  were  shaking 
femininity  disturbed  her  calm.  She  was  "a  lady," 
the,  "wife  of  a  professional  man."  It  was  proper 

ii 


THE  PRECIPICE 

that  she  should  "be  well  cared  for."  She  moved  by 
her  well-chosen  phrases ;  they  were  like  rules  set  in 
a  copybook  for  her  guidance. 

Kate  seemed  to  see  a  moving-picture  show  of  her 
mother's  days.  Now  she  was  pouring  the  coffee  from 
the  urn,  seasoning  it  scrupulously  to  suit  her  lord 
and  master,  now  arranging  the  flowers,  now  feeding 
the  goldfish;  now  polishing  the  glass  with  tissue 
paper.  Then  she  answered  the  telephone  for  her 
husband,  the  doctor,  —  answered  the  door,  too, 
sometimes.  She  received  calls  and  paid  them,  read 
the  ladies'  magazines,  and  knew  all  about  what  was 
"fitting  for  a  lady."  Of  course,  she  had  her  prej 
udices.  She  could  n't  endure  Oriental  rugs,  and 
did  n't  believe  that  smuggling  was  wrong ;  at  least, 
not  when  done  by  the  people  one  knew  and  when 
the  things  smuggled  were  pretty. 

Kate,  who  had  the  spirit  of  the  liberal  comedian, 
smiled  many  times  remembering  these  things.  Then 
she  sighed,  for  she  realized  that  her  ability  to  see 
these  whimsicalities  meant  that  she  and  her  mother 
were,  after  all,  creatures  of  diverse  training  and 
thought. 


II 

WHAT!  Silvertree?  She  hadn't  realized  how  the 
time  had  been  flying.  But  there  was  the  sawmill. 
She  could  hear  the  whir  and  buzz !  And  there  was  the 
old  livery-stable,  and  the  place  where  farm  imple 
ments  were  sold,  and  the  little  harness  shop  jammed 
in  between ;  —  and  there,  to  convince  her  no  mis 
take  had  been  made,  was  the  lozenge  of  grass  with 
"Silvertree"  on  it  in  white  stones.  Then,  in  a  sec 
ond,  the  station  appeared  with  the  busses  backed 
up  against  it,  and  beyond  them  the  familiar  surrey 
with  a  woman  in  it  with  yearning  eyes. 

Kate,  the  specialized  student  of  psychology,  the 
graduate  with  honors,  who  had  learned  to  note  con 
trasts  and  weigh  values,  forgot  everything  (even  her 
umbrella)  and  leaped  from  the  train  while  it  was 
still  in  motion.  Forgotten  the  honors  and  degrees; 
the  majors  were  mere  minor  affairs;  and  there  re 
mained  only  the  things  which  were  from  the  begin 
ning. 

She  and  her  mother  sat  very  close  together  as 
they  drove  through  the  familiar  village  streets.  When 
they  did  speak,  it  was  incoherently.  There  was  an 
odor  of  brier  roses  in  the  air  and  the  sun  was  set 
ting  in  a  "bed  of  daffodil  sky."  Kate  felt  waves 
of  beauty  and  tenderness  breaking  over  her  and 
wanted  to  cry.  Her  mother  wanted  to  and  did. 

13 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Neither  trusted  herself  to  speak,  but  when  they 
were  in  the  house  Mrs.  Barrington  pulled  the  pins 
out  of  Kate's  hat  and  then  Kate  took  the  faded, 
gentle  woman  in  her  strong  arms  and  crushed  her  to 
her. 

"Your  father  was  afraid  he  would  n't  be  home  in 
time  to  meet  you,"  said  Mrs.  Barrington  when  they 
were  in  the  parlor,  where  the  Dresden  vases  stood 
on  the  marble  mantel  and  the  rose- jar  decorated  the 
three-sided  table  in  the  corner.  "It  was  just  his 
luck  to  be  called  into  the  country.  If  it  had  been  a 
really  sick  person  who  wanted  him,  I  would  n't  have 
minded,  but  it  was  only  Venie  Sampson." 

"Still  having  fits?"  asked  Kate  cheerfully,  as  one 
glad  to  recognize  even  the  chronic  ailments  of  a  fa 
miliar  community. 

"Well,  she  thinks  she  has  them,"  said  Mrs.  Bar 
rington  in  an  easy,  gossiping  tone;  "but  my  opinion 
is  that  she  would  n't  be  troubled  with  them  if  only 
there  were  some  other  way  in  which  she  could  call 
attention  to  herself.  You  see,  Venie  was  a  very 
pretty  girl." 

"Has  that  made  her  an  invalid,  mummy?" 

"Well,  it's  had  something  to  do  with  it.  When 
she  was  young  she  received  no  end  of  attention,  but 
some  way  she  went  through  the  woods  and  did  n't 
even  pick  up  a  crooked  stick.  But  she  got  so  used  to 
being  the  center  of  interest  that  when  she  found  her 
self  growing  old  and  plain,  she  could  n't  think  of  any 
way  to  keep  attention  fixed  on  her  except  by  having 

14 


THE  PRECIPICE 

these  collapses.  You  know  you  must  n't  call  the 
attacks  ' fits.'  Venie's  far  too  refined  for  that." 

Kate  smiled  broadly  at  her  mother's  distinctive 
brand  of  humor.  She  loved  it  all  —  Miss  Sampson's 
fits,  her  mother's  jokes;  even  the  fact  that  when 
they  went  out  to  supper  she  sat  where  she  used  in  the 
old  days  when  she  had  worn  a  bib  beneath  her  chin. 

"Oh,  the  plates,  the  cups,  the  everything!"  cried 
Kate,  ridiculously  lifting  a  piece  of  the  "best  china" 
to  her  lips  and  kissing  it. 

"Absurdity!"  reproved  her  mother,  but  she 
adored  the  girl's  extravagances  just  the  same. 

"Every thing's  glorious,"  Kate  insisted.  "Cream 
cheese  and  parsley!  Did  you  make  it,  mummy? 
Currant  rolls  —  oh,  the  wonders!  Martha  Under 
wood,  don't  dare  to  die  without  showing  me  how  to 
make  those  currant  rolls.  Veal  loaf  —  now,  what 
do  you  think  of  that?  Why,  at  Foster  we  went  hun 
gry  sometimes  —  not  for  lack  of  quantity,  of  course, 
but  because  of  the  quality.  I  used  to  be  dreadfully 
ashamed  of  the  fact  that  there  we  were,  dozens  of  us 
women  in  that  fine  hall,  and  not  one  of  us  with 
enough  domestic  initiative  to  secure  a  really  good 
table."  I  tried  to  head  an  insurrection  and  to  have 
now  one  girl  and  now  another  supervise  the  table, 
but  the  girls  said  they  hadn't  come  to  college  to 
keep  house." 

"Yes,  yes,"  chimed  in  her  mother  excitedly; 
"that's  where  the  whole  trouble  with  college  for 
women  comes  in.  They  not  only  don't  go  to  college 

'5 


THE  PRECIPICE 

to  keep  house,  but  most  of  them  mean  not  to  keep  it 
when  they  come  out.  We  allowed  you  to  go  merely 
because  you  overbore  us.  You  used  to  be  a  terrible 
little  tyrant,  Katie,  —  almost  as  bad  as  — " 

She  brought  herself  up  suddenly. 

"As  bad  as  whom,  mummy?" 

There  was  a  step  on  the  front  porch  and  Mrs.  Bar- 
rington  was  spared  the  need  for  answering. 

"There's  your  father,"  she  said,  signaling  Kate 
to  meet  him. 

Dr.  Barrington  was  tall,  spare,  and  grizzled.  The 
torpor  of  the  little  town  had  taken  the  light  from  his 
eyes  and  reduced  the  tempo  of  his  movements,  but, 
in  spite  of  all,  he  had  preserved  certain  vivid  fea 
tures  of  his  personality.  He  had  the  long,  educated 
hands  of  the  surgeon  and  the  tyrannical  aspect  of 
the  physician  who  has  struggled  all ,  his  life  with 
disobedience  and  perversity.  He  returned  Kate's 
ardent  little  storm  of  kisses  with  some  embarrass 
ment,  but  he  was  unfeignedly  pleased  at  her  appear 
ance,  and  as  the  three  of  them  sat  about  the  table 
in  their  old  juxtaposition,  his  face  relaxed.  However, 
"  Kate  had  seen  her  mother  look  up  wistfully  as  her 
husband  passed  her,  as  if  she  longed  for  some  affec 
tionate  recognition  of  the  occasion,  but  the  man 
missed  his  opportunity  and  let  it  sink  into  the  limbo 
of  unimproved  moments. 

"Well,  father,  we  have  our  girl  home  again,"  Mrs. 
Barrington  said  with  pardonable  sentiment. 

16 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"Well,  we've  been  expecting  her,  haven't  we?" 
Dr.  Barrington  replied,  not  ill-naturedly  but  with 
a  marked  determination  to  make  the  episode  matter- 
of-fact. 

"Indeed  we  have,"  smiled  Mrs.  Barrington.  "But 
of  course  it  could  n't  mean  to  you,  Frederick,  what 
it  does  to  me.  A  mother's  — " 

Dr.  Barrington  raised  his  hand. 

"Never  mind  about  a  mother's  love,"  he  said 
decisively.  "If  you  had  seen  it  fail  as  often  as  I 
have,  you'd  think  the  less  said  on  the  subject  the 
better.  Women  are  mammal,  I  admit;  maternal 
they  are  not,  save  in  a  proportion  of  cases.  Did  you 
have  a  pleasant  journey  down,  Kate?" 

He  had  the  effect  of  shutting  his  wife  out  of  the 
conversation;  of  definitely  snubbing  and  discoun 
tenancing  her.  Kate  knew  it  had  always  been  like 
that,  though  when  she  had  been  young  and  more 
passionately  determined  to  believe  her  home  the 
best  and  dearest  in  the  world,  as  children  will,  she 
had  overlooked  the  fact  —  had  pretended  that  what 
was  a  habit  was  only  a  mood,  and  that  if  "father 
was  cross"  to-day,  he  would  be  pleasant  to-morrow. 
Now  he  began  questioning  Kate  about  college,  her 
instructors  and  her  friends.  There  was  conversa 
tion  enough,  but  the  man's  wife  sat  silent,  and  she 
knew  that  Kate  knew  that  he  expected  her  to  do  so. 
h  Custard  was  brought  on  and  Mrs.  Barrington 
diffidently  served  it.  Her  husband  gave  one  glance 
at  it. 

17 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"  Curdled !"  he  said  succinctly,  pushing  his  plate 
from  him.  "It's  a  pity  it  could  n't  have  been  right 
Kate's  first  night  home." 

Kate  thought  there  had  been  so  much  that  was 
not  right  her  first  night  home,  that  a  spoiled  confec 
tion  was  hardly  worth  comment. 

"I'm  dreadfully  sorry,"  Mrs.  Barrington  said. 
"I  suppose  I  should  have  made  it  myself,  but  I 
went  down  to  the  train  — " 

"That  did  n't  take  all  the  afternoon,  did  it?"  the 
doctor  asked. 

"I  was  doing  things  around  the  house — " 

"Putting  flowers  in  my  room,  I  know,  mummy," 
broke  in  Kate,  "and  polishing  up  the  silver  toilet 
bottles,  the  beauties.  You're  one  of  those  women 
who  pet  a  home,  and  it  shows,  I  can  tell  you.  You 
don't  see  many  homes  like  this,  do  you,  dad,  —  so 
ladylike  and  brier-rosy?" 

She  leaned  smilingly  across  the  table  as  she  ad 
dressed  her  father,  offering  him  not  the  ingratiating 
and  seductive  smile  which  he  was  accustomed  to  see 
women  —  his  wife  among  the  rest  —  employ  when 
they  wished  to  placate  him.  Kate's  was  the  bright 
smile  of  a  comradely  fellow  creature  who  asked  him 
to  play  a  straight  game.  It  made  him  take  fresh 
stock  of  his  girl.  He  noted  her  high  oval  brow  around 
which  the  dark  hair  clustered  engagingly ;  her  flexible, 
rather  large  mouth,  with  lips  well  but  not  seductively 
arched,  and  her  clear  skin  with  its  uniform  tinting. 
Such  beauty  as  she  had,  and  it  was  far  from  negligi- 

18 


THE  PRECIPICE 

ble,  would  endure.  She  was  quite  five  feet  ten  inches, 
he  estimated,  with  a  good  chest  development  and 
capable  shoulders.  Her  gestures  were  free  and  sug 
gestive  of  strength,  and  her  long  body  had  the  grace 
of  flexibility  and  perfect  unconsciousness.  All  of 
this  was  good ;  but  what  of  the  spirit  that  looked  out 
of  her  eyes?  It  was  a  glance  to  which  the  man  was 
not  accustomed  —  feminine  yet  unafraid,  beautiful 
but  not  related  to  sex.  The  physician  was  not  able 
to  analyze  it,  though  where  women  were  concerned 
he  was  a  merciless  analyst.  Gratified,  yet  unac 
countably  disturbed,  he  turned  to  his  wife. 

"Martha  has  forgotten  to  light  up  the  parlor,"  he 
said  testily.  "Can't  you  impress  on  her  that  she's 
to  have  the  room  ready  for  us  when  we've  finished 
in  here?" 

"She 's  so  excited  over  Kate's  coming  home,"  said 
Mrs.  Barrington  with  a  placatory  smile.  "Perhaps 
you'll  light  up  to-night,  Frederick." 

"No,  I  won't.  I  began  work  at  five  this  morning 
and  I've  been  going  all  day.  It's  up  to  you  and 
Martha  to  run  the  house." 

"The  truth  is,"  said  Mrs.  Barrington,  "neither 
Martha  nor  I  can  reach  the  gasolier." 

Dr.  Barrington  had  the  effect  of  pouncing  on  this 
statement. 

"That's  what's  the  matter,  then,"  he  said.  "You 
forgot  to  get  the  tapers.  I  heard  Martha  telling  you 
last  night  that  they  were  out." 

A  flush  spread  over  Mrs.  Barrington's  delicate 

19 


THE   PRECIPICE 

face  as  she  cast  about  her  for  the  usual  subterfuge 
and  failed  to  find  it.  In  that  moment  Kate  realized 
that  it  had  been  a  long  programme  of  subterfuges 
with  her  mother  —  subterfuges  designed  to  protect 
her  from  the  onslaughts  of  the  irritable  man  who 
dominated  her. 

"I'll  light  the  gas,  mummy,"  she  said  gently. 
"Let  that  be  one  of  my  fixed  duties  from  now  on." 

"You'll  spoil  your  mother,  Kate,"  said  the  doctor 
with  a  whimsical  intonation. 

His  jesting  about  what  had  so  marred  the  hour  of 
reunion  brought  a  surge  of  anger  to  Kate's  brain. 

"That's  precisely  what  I  came  home  to  do,  sir," 
she  said  significantly.  "What  other  reason  could 
I  have  for  coming  back  to  Silvertree?  The  town 
certainly  is  n't  enticing.  You  Ve  been  doctoring 
here  for  forty  years,  but  you  hav  n't  been  able  to 
cure  the  local  sleeping-sickness  yet." 

It  stung  and  she  had  meant  it  to.  To  insult  Silver- 
tree  was  to  hurt  the  doctor  in  his  most  tender  van 
ity.  It  was  one  of  his  most  fervid  beliefs  that  he  had 
selected  a  growing  town,  conspicuous  for  its  enter 
prise.  In  his  young  manhood  he  had  meant  to  do 
fine  things.  He  was  public-spirited,  charitable,  a 
death-fighter  of  courage  and  persistence.  Though 
not  a  religious  man,  he  had  one  holy  passion,  that  of 
the  physician.  He  respected  himself  and  loved  his 
wife,  but  he  had  from  boyhood  confused  the  ideas 
of  masculinity  and  tyranny.  He  believed  that  wo 
men  needed  discipline,  and  he  had  little  by  little 

20 


THE  PRECIPICE 

destroyed  the  integrity  of  the  woman  he  would  have 
most  wished  to  venerate.  That  she  could,  in  spite  of 
her  manifest  cowardice  and  moral  circumventions, 
still  pray  nightly  and  read  the  book  that  had  been 
the  light  to  countless  faltering  feet,  furnished  him 
with  food  for  acrid  sarcasm.  He  saw  in  this  only 
the  essential  furtiveness,  inconsistency,  and  super 
stition  of  the  female. 

The  evening  dragged.  The  neighbors  who  would 
have  liked  to  visit  them  refrained  from  doing  so  be 
cause  they  thought  the  reunited  family  would  prefer 
to  be  alone  that  first  evening.  Kate  did  her  best  to 
preserve  some  tattered  fragments  of  the  amenities. 
She  told  college  stories,  talked  of  Lena  Vroom  and 
of  beautiful  Honora  Fulham,  —  hinted  even  at  Ray 
McCrea,  —  and  by  dint  of  much  ingenuity  wore  the 
evening  away. 

"In  the  morning,"  she  said  to  her  father  as  she 
bade  him  good-night,  "we'll  both  be  rested."  She 
had  meant  it  for  an  apology,  not  for  herself  any 
more  than  for  him,  but  he  assumed  no  share  in  it. 

Up  in  her  room  her  mother  saw  her  bedded,  and 
in  kissing  her  whispered,  — 

"Don't  oppose  your  father,  Kate.  You'll  only 
make  me  unhappy.  Anything  for  peace,  that's  what 
I  say." 


Ill 

IT  was  sweet  to  awaken  in  the  old  room.  Through 
the  open  window  she  could  see  the  fork  in  the  linden 
tree  and  the  squirrels  making  free  in  the  branches. 
The  birds  were  at  their  opera,  and  now  and  then  the 
shape  of  one  outlined  itself  against  the  holland  shade. 
Kate  had  been  commanded  to  take  her  breakfast  in 
bed  and  she  was  more  than  willing  to  do  so.  The 
after-college  lassitude  was  upon  her  and  her  thoughts 
moved  drowsily  through  her  weary  brain. 
•  Her  mother,  by  an  unwonted  exercise  of  self-con 
trol,  kept  from  the  room  that  morning,  stopping 
only  now  and  then  at  the  door  for  a  question  or  a 
look.  That  was  sweet,  too.  Kate  loved  to  have  her 
hovering  about  like  that,  and  yet  the  sight  of  her,  so 
fragile,  so  fluttering,  added  to  the  sense  of  sadness 
that  was  creeping  over  her.  After  a  time  it  began  to 
rain  softly,  the  drops  slipping  down  into  the  shrub 
bery  and  falling  like  silver  beads  from  the  window- 
hood.  At  that  Kate  began  to  weep,  too,  just  as 
quietly,  and  then  she  slept  again.  Her  mother  com 
ing  in  on  tiptoe  saw  tears  on  the  girl's  cheek,  but 
she  did  not  marvel.  Though  her  experience  had 
been  narrow  she  was  blessed  with  certain  perceptions. 
She  knew  that  even  women  who  called  themselves 
happy  sometimes  had  need  to  weep. 

The  little  pensive  pause  was  soon  over.  There 

22 


THE  PRECIPICE 

was  no  use,  as  all  the  sturdier  part  of  Kate  knew,  in 
holding  back  from  the  future.  That  very  afternoon 
the  new  life  began  forcing  itself  on  her.  The  neigh 
bors  called,  eager  to  meet  this  adventurous  one  who 
had  turned  her  back  on  the  pleasant  conventions 
and  had  refused  to  content  herself  with  the  Silver- 
tree  Seminary  for  Young  Ladies.  They  wanted  to 
see  what  the  new  brand  of  young  woman  was  like. 
Moreover,  there  was  no  one  who  was  not  under  ob 
ligations  to  be  kind  to  her  mother's  daughter.  So, 
presently  the  whole  social  life  of  Silvertree,  aroused 
from  its  midsummer  torpor  by  this  exciting  event, 
was  in  full  swing. 

Kate  wrote  to  Honora  a  fortnight  later :  — 
"  I  am  trying  to  be  the  perfect  young  lady  accord 
ing  to  dear  mummy's  definition.  You  should  see 
me  running  baby  ribbon  in  my  lingerie  and  combing 
out  the  fringe  on  tea-napkins.  Every  afternoon  we 
are  'entertained'  or  give  an  entertainment.  Of 
course  we  meet  the  same  people  over  and  over,  but 
truly  I  like  the  cordiality.  Even  the  inquisitiveness 
has  an  affectionate  quality  to  it.  I  'm  determined 
to  enjoy  my  village  and  I  do  appreciate  the  homely 
niceties  of  the  life  here.  Of  course  I  have  to  'pre 
tend  '  rather  hard  at  times  —  pretend,  for  example, 
that  I  care  about  certain  things  which  are  really  of 
no  moment  to  me  whatever.  To  illustrate,  mother 
and  I  have  some  recipes  which  nobody  else  has  and 
it 's  our  r61e  to  be  secretive  about  them !  And  we 
have  invented  a  new  sort  of  '  ribbon  sandwich.'  Did 

23 


THE   PRECIPICE 

you  ever  hear  of  a  ribbon  sandwich?  If  not,. you 
must  be  told  that  it  consists  of  layers'1  and  layers  of 
thin  slices  of  bread  all  pressed  down  together,  with 
ground  nuts  or  dressed  lettuce  in  between.  Each 
entertainer  astonishes  her  guests  with  a  new  variety. 
That  furnishes  conversation  for  several  minutes. 

"How  long  can  I  stand  it,  Honora,  my  dear  old 

defender  of  freedom?  The  classrooms  are  mine  no 

more;  the  campus  is  a  departed  glory;  I  shall  no 

longer  sing  the  'Alma  Mater'  with  you  when  the 

chimes  ring  at  ten.    The  whole  challenge  of   the 

5  city  is  missing.   Nothing  opposes  me,  there  is  no  task 

for  me  to  do.   I  must  be  supine,  acquiescent,  smiling, 

>  non-essential.   I  am  like  a  runner  who  has  trained 

1  for  a  race,  and,  ready  for  the  speeding,  finds  that  no 

race  is  on.   But  I've  no  business  to  be  surprised.   I 

knew  it  would  be  like  this,  did  n't  I?  the  one  thing 

is  to  make  and  keep  mummy  happy.  She  needs  me 

so  much.   And  I  am  happy  to  be  with  her.  Write  me 

often  —  write  me  everything.  Gods,  how  I  'd  like  a 

walk  and  talk  with  you!" 

Mrs.  Barrington  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  her 
interest  in  the  letters  which  Ray  McCrea  wrote  her 
daughter.  She  was  one  of  those  women  who  thrill  at 
a  masculine  superscription  on  a  letter.  Perhaps  she 
got  more  satisfaction  out  of  these  not  too  frequent 
missives  than  Kate  did  herself.  While  the  writer 
did  n't  precisely  say  that  he  counted  on  Kate  to 
supply  the  woof  of  the  fabric  of  life,  that  expecta- 

24 


THE  PRECIPICE 

tion  made  itself  evident  between  the  lines  to  Mrs. 
Barrington's  sentimental  perspicacity. 

Kate  answered  his  letters,  for  it  was  pleasant 
to  have  a  masculine  correspondent.  It  provided  a 
needed  stimulation.  Moreover,  in  the  back  of  her 
mind  she  knew  that  he  presented  an  avenue  of  es 
cape  if  Silvertree  and  home  became  unendurable.  It 
seemed  piteous  enough  that  her  life  with  her  parents 
should  so  soon  have  become  a  mere  matter  of  duty 
and  endurance,  but  there  was  a  feeling  of  perpet 
ually  treading  on  eggs  in  the  Barrington  house. 
Kate  could  have  screamed  with  exasperation  as  one 
eventless  day  after  another  dawned  and  the  blight 
of  caution  and  apprehension  was  never  lifted  from 
her  mother  and  Martha.  She  writhed  with  shame 
at  the  sight  of  her  mother's  cajolery  of  the  tyrant 
she  served  —  and  loved.  To  have  spoken  out  once, 
recklessly,  to  have  entered  a  wordy  combat  without 
rancor  and  for  the  mere  zest  of  tournament,  to  have 
let  the  winnowing  winds  of  satire  blow  through  the 
house  with  its  stale  sentimentalities  and  mental  at 
titudes,  would  have  reconciled  her  to  any  amount  of 
difference  in  the  point  of  view.  But  the  hushed  voice 
and  covertly  held  position  afflicted  her  like  shame. 

Were  all  women  who  became  good  wives  asked  to 
falsify  themselves?  Was  furtive  diplomacy,  or,  at 
least,  spiritual  compromise,  the  miserable  duty  of 
woman?  Was  it  her  business  to  placate  her  mate, 
and,  by  exercising  the  cunning  of  the  weak,  to  keep 
out  from  under  his  heel? 

25 


THE  PRECIPICE 

There  was  no  one  in  all  Silvertree  whom  the  discrim 
inating  would  so  quickly  have  mentioned  as  the  ideal 
wife  as  Mrs.  Barrington.  She  herself,  no  doubt,  so 
Kate  concluded  with  her  merciless  young  psychol 
ogy,  regarded  herself  as  noble.  But  the  people  in 
Silvertree  had  a  passion  for  thinking  of  themselves 
as  noble.  They  had,  Kate  said  to  herself  bitterly, 
so  few  charms  that  they  had  to  fall  back  on  their  vir 
tues.  In  the  face  of  all  this  it  became  increasingly 
difficult  to  think  of  marriage  as  a  goal  for  herself, 
and  her  letters  to  McCrea  were  further  and  further 
apart  as  the  slow  weeks  passed.  She  had  once  read 
the  expression,  "the  authentic  voice  of  happiness," 
and  it  had  lived  hauntingly  in  her  memory.  Could 
Ray  speak  that?  Would  she,  reading  his  summons 
from  across  half  the  world,  hasten  to  him,  choose 
him  from  the  millions,  face  any  future  with  him? 
»  She  knew  she  would  not.  No,  no;  union  with  the 
man  of  average  congeniality  was  not  her  goal.  There 
must  be  something  more  shining  than  that  for  her 
to  speed  toward  it. 

However,  one  day  she  caught,  opportunely,  a  hint 
of  the  further  meanings  of  a  woman's  life.  Honora 
provided  a  great  piece  of  news,  and  illuminated 
with  a  new  understanding,  Kate  wrote :  —  - 

"MY  DEAR,   DEAR  GIRL:  — 

"You  write  me  that  something  beautiful  is  going 
to  happen  to  you.  I  can  guess  what  it  is  and  I  agree 
that  it  is  glorious,  though  it  does  take  my  breath 

26 


THE  PRECIPICE 

away.  Now  there  are  two  of  you  —  and  by  and  by 
there  will  be  three,  and  the  third  will  be  part  you 
and  part  David  and  all  a  miracle.  I  can  see  how  it 
makes  life  worth  living,  Honora,  as  nothing  else 
could  —  nothing  else ! 

"  Mummy  would  n't  like  me  to  write  like  this.  She 
does  n't  approve  of  women  whose  understanding 
jumps  ahead  of  their  experiences.  But  what  is  the  use 
of  pretending  that  I  don't  encompass  your  miracle? 
I  knew  all  about  it  from  the  beginning  of  the  earth. 

"This  will  mean  that  you  will  have  to  give  up 
your  laboratory  work  with  David,  I  suppose.  Will 
that  be  a  hardship?  Or  are  you  glad  of  the  old 
womanly  excuse  for  passing  by  the  outside  things, 
and  will  you  now  settle  down  to  be  as  fine  a  mother 
as  you  were  a  chemist?  Will  you  go  further,  my 
dear,  and  make  a  fuss  about  your  house  and  go  all 
delicately  bedizened  after  the  manner  of  the  pro 
fessors'  nice  little  wives  —  go  in,  I  mean,  for  all  the 
departments  of  the  feminine  profession? 

"  I  do  hope  you  '11  have  a  little  son,  Honora,  not  so 
much  on  your  account  as  on  his.  During  childhood  a 
girl's  feet  are  as  light  as  a  boy's  bounding  over  the 
earth ;  but  when  once  childhood  is  over,  a  man's  life 
seems  so  much  more  coherent  than  a  woman's, 
though  it  is  not  really  so  important.  But  it  takes 
precisely  the  experience  you  are  going  through  to 
give  it  its  great  significance,  does  n't  it? 

"What  other  career  is  there  for  real  women,  I 
wonder?  What,  for  example,  am  I  to  do,  Honora? 

27 


THE  PRECIPICE 

There  at  the  University  I  prepared  myself  for  fine 
work,  but  I'm  trapped  here  in  this  silly  Silvertree 
cage.  If  I  had  a  talent  I  could  make  out  very  well, 
but  I  am  talentless,  and  all  I  do  now  is  to  answer  the 
telephone  for  father  and  help  mummy  embroider  the 
towels.  They  won't  let  me  do  anything  else.  Some 
one  asked  me  the  other  day  what  colors  I  intended 
wearing  this  autumn.  I  wanted  to  tell  them  smoke- 
of-disappointment,  ashes-of-dreams,  and  dull-as- 
wash-Monday.  But  I  only  said  ashes-of-roses. 

" '  Not  all  of  your  frocks,  surely,  Kate,'  one  of  the 
girls  cried.  'All,'  I  declared;  'street  frocks,  evening 
gowns,  all.'  'But  you  mustn't  be  odd,'  my  little 
friend  warned.  '  Especially  as  people  are  a  little  sus 
picious  that  you  will  be  because  of  your  going  to  a 
co-educational  college.' 

"I  thought  it  would  be  so  restful  here,  but  it 
does  n't  offer  peace  so  much  as  shrinkage.  Silvertree 
is  n't  pastoral  —  it's  merely  small  town.  Of  course 
it  is  possible  to  imagine  a  small  town  that  would 
be  ideal  —  a  community  of  quiet  souls  leading  the 
simple  life.  But  we  are  n't  great  or  quiet  souls  here, 
and  are  just  as  far  from  simple  as  our  purses  and 
experience  will  let  us  be. 

"I  dare  say  that  you'll  be  advising  me,  as  a  stu 
dent  of  psychology,  to  stop  criticizing  and  to  try  to 
do  something  for  the  neighbors  here  —  go  in  search 
of  their  submerged  selves.  But,  honestly,  it  would 
require  too  much  paraphernalia  in  the  way  of  diving- 
bells  and  air-pumps. 

28 


THE  PRECIPICE* 

''I  have,  however,  a  reasonable  cause  of  worry. 
Dear  little  mummy  is  n't  well.  At  first  we  thought 
her  indisposition  of  little  account,  but  she  seems  run 
down.  She  has  been  flurried  and  nervous  ever  since 
I  came  home;  indeed,  I  may  say  she  has  been  so  for 
years.  Now  she  seems  suddenly  to  have  broken 
down.  But  I  'm  going  to  do  everything  I  can  for  her, 
and  I  know  father  will,  too;  for  he  can't  endure  to 
have  any  one  sick.  It  arouses  his  great  virtue,  his 
physicianship." 

A  week  later  Kate  mailed  this :  — 

"  I  am  turning  to  you  in  my  terrible  fear.  Mummy 
won't  answer  our  questions  and  seems  lost  in  a  world 
of  thought.  Father  has  called  in  other  physicians  to 
help  him.  I  can't  tell  you  how  like  a  frightened  child 
I  feel.  Oh,  my  poor  little  bewildered  mummy !  What 
do  you  suppose  she  is  thinking  about?" 

Then,  a  week  afterward,  this  —  on  black-bordered 
paper  :- 

"SISTER  HONORA:  — 

"She's  been  gone  three  days.  To  the  last  we 
could  n't  tell  why  she  fell  ill.  We  only  knew  she 
made  no  effort  to  get  well.  I  am  tormented  by  the 
fear  that  I  had  something  to  do  with  her  breaking 
like  that.  She  was  appalled  —  shattered  —  at  the 
idea  of  any  friction  between  father  and  me.  When  I 
stood  up  for  my  own  ideas  against  his,  it  was  to  her 

29 


,  THE  PRECIPICE 

as  sacrilegious  as  if  I  had  lifted  my  hand  against  a 
king.  I  might  have  capitulated  —  ought,  I  suppose, 
to  have  foregone  everything! 

>•  "There  is  one  thing,  however,  that  gives  me 
strange  comfort.  At  the  last  she  had  such  dignity! 
Her  silence  seemed  fine  and  brave.  She  looked  at  us 
from  a  deep  still  peace  as  if,  after  all  her  losing  of  the 
way,  she  had  at  last  found  it  and  Herself.  The  search 
has  carried  her  beyond  our  sight. 

"Oh,  we  are  so  lonely,  father  and  I.  We  silently 
accuse  each  other.  He  thinks  my  reckless  truth- 
telling  destroyed  her  timid  spirit ;  I  think  his  twenty- 
five  years  of  tyranny  did  it.  We  both  know  how  she 
hated  our  rasping,  and  we  hate  it  ourselves.  Yet, 
even  at  that  hour  when  we  stood  beside  her  bed  and 
knew  the  end  was  coming,  he  and  I  were  at  sword's 
points.  What  a  hackneyed  expression,  but  how  ter 
rible!  Yes,  the  hateful  swords  of  our  spirits,  my 
point  toward  his  breast  and  his  toward  mine, 
gleamed  there  almost  visibly  above  that  little  tired 
creature.  He  wanted  her  for  himself  even  to  the  last : 
I  wanted  her  for  Truth  —  wanted  her  to  walk  up  to 
God  dressed  in  her  own  soul-garments,  not  decked  out 
in  the  rags  and  tags  of  those  father  had  tossed  to  her. 

"She  spoke  only  once.  She  had  been  dreaming,  I 
suppose,  and  a  wonderful  illuminated  smile  broke 
over  her  face.  In  the  midst  of  what  seemed  a  sort 
of  ecstasy,  she  looked  up  and  saw  father  watching 
her.  She  shivered  away  from  him  with  one  of  those 
apologetic  gestures  she  so  often  used.  '  It  was  n't  a 

30 


THE  PRECIPICE 

heavenly  vision,'  she  said  —  she  knew  he  would  n't 
have  believed  in  that  —  '  it  was  only  that  I  thought 
my  little  brown  baby  was  in  my  arms.'  She  meant 
me,  Honora,  —  think  of  it.  She  had  gone  back  to 
those  tender  days  when  I  had  been  dependent  on  her 
for  all  my  well-being.  My  mummy !  I  gathered  her 
close  and  held  her  till  she  was  gone,  my  little,  strange, 
frightened  love. 

"Now  father  and  I  hide  our  thoughts  from  each 
other.  He  wanted  to  know  if  I  was  going  to  keep 
house  for  him.  I  said  I'd  try,  for  six  months.  He 
flew  in  one  of  his  rages  because  I  admitted  that  it 
would  be  an  experiment.  He  wanted  to  know  what 
kind  of  a  daughter  I  was,  and  I  told  him  the  kind  he 
had  made  me.  Is  n't  that  hideous? 

"  I  Ve  no  right  to  trouble  you,  but  I  must  confide 
in  some  one  or  my  heart  will  break.  There 's  no  one 
here  I  can  talk  to,  though  many  are  kind.  And  Ray 
—  perhaps  you  think  I  should  have  written  all  this 
to  him.  But  I  was  n't  moved  to  do  so,  Honora.  Try 
to  forgive  me  for  telling  you  these  troubles  now  in 
the  last  few  days  before  your  baby  comes.  I  suppose 
I  turn  to  you  because  you  are  one  of  the  blessed  cor 
poration  of  mothers — part  and  parcel  of  the  mother- 
fact.  It's  like  being  a  part  of  the  good  rolling  earth, 
just  as  familiar  and  comforting.  Thinking  of  you 
mysteriously  makes  me  good.  I'm  going  to  forget 
myself,  the  way  you  do,  and  'make  a  home'  for 
father.  "Your  own 

KATE." 


THE  PRECIPICE 

In  September  she  sent  Honora  a  letter  of  con 
gratulation. 

"So  it's  twins!  Girls!  Were  you  transported  or 
amused?  Patience  and  Patricia  —  very  pretty. 
You'll  stay  at  home  with  the  treasures,  won't  you? 
You  see,  there's  something  about  you  I  can't  quite 
understand,  if  you'll  forgive  me  for  saying  it.  You 
were  an  exuberant  girl,  but  after  marriage  you  grew 
austere  —  put  your  lips  together  in  a  line  that  dis 
couraged  kissing.  So  I  'm  not  sure  of  you  even  now 
that  the  babies  have  come.  Some  day  you  '11  have  to 
explain  yourself  to  me. 

"I'm  one  who  needs  explanations  all  along  the 
road.  Why?  Why?  Why?  That  is  what  my  soul 
keeps  demanding.  Why  could  n't  I  go  back  to 
Chicago  with  Ray  McCrea?  He  was  down  here  the 
other  day,  but  I  would  n't  let  him  say  the  things  he 
obviously  had  come  to  say,  and  now  he 's  on  his  way 
abroad  and  very  likely  we  shall  not  meet  again.  I 
feel  so  numb  since  mummy  died  that  I  can't  care 
about  Ray.  I  keep  crying  'Why?'  about  Death 
among  other  things.  And  about  that  horrid  gulf 
between  father  and  me.  If  we  try  to  get  across  we 
only  fall  in.  He  has  me  here  ready  to  his  need.  He 
neither  knows  nor  cares  what  my  thoughts  are.  So 
long  as  I  answer  the  telephone  faithfully,  sterilize  the 
drinking-water,  and  see  that  he  gets  his  favorite 
dishes,  he  is  content.  I  have  no  liberty  to  leave  the 
house  and  my  restlessness  is  torture.  The  neighbors 
no  longer  flutter  in  as  they  used  when  mummy  was 

32 


THE   PRECIPICE 

here.    They  have  given  me  over  to  my  year  of 
mourning  —  which  means  vacuity. 

"  Partly  for  lack  of  something  better  to  do  I  have 
cleaned  the  old  house  from  attic  to  cellar,  and  have 
been  glad  to  creep  to  bed  lame  and  sore  from  work, 
because  then  I  could  sleep.  Father  won't  let  me 
read  at  night  —  watches  for  signs  of  the  light  under 
my  door  and  calls  out  to  me  if  it  shows.  It  is  golden 
weather  without,  dear  friend,  and  within  is  order 
and  system.  But  what  good?  I  am  stagnating,  per 
ishing.  I  can  see  no  release  —  cannot  even  imagine 
in  what  form  I  would  like  it  to  come.  In  your  great 
happiness  remember  my  sorrow.  And  with  your 
wonderful  sweetness  forgive  my  bitter  egotism.  But 
truly,  Honora,  I  die  daily." 

The  first  letter  Honora  Fulham  wrote  after  she 
was  able  to  sit  at  her  desk  was  to  Kate.  No  answer 
came.  In  November  Mrs.  Fulham  telephoned  to 
Lena  Vroom  to  ask  if  she  had  heard,  but  Lena  had 
received  no  word. 

"Go  down  to  Silvertree,  Lena,  there's  a  dear," 
begged  her  old  schoolmate.  ;But  Lena  was  working 
for  her  doctor's  degree  and  could  not  spare  the  time. 
The  holidays  came  on,  and  Mrs.  Fulham  tried  to 
imagine  her  friend  as  being  at  last  broken  to  her 
galling  harness.  Surely  there  must  be  compensa 
tions  for  any  father  and  daughter  who  can  dwell 
together.  Her  own  Christmas  was  a  very  happy  one, 
and  she  was  annoyed  with  herself  that  her  thoughts 

33 


THE  PRECIPICE 

so  continually  turned  to  Kate.  She  had  an  uneasy 
sense  of  apprehension  in  spite  of  all  her  verbal 
assurances  to  Lena  that  Kate  could  master  any 
situation. 

What  really  happened  in  Silvertree  that  day 
changed,  as  it  happened,  the  course  of  Kate's  life. 
Sorrow  came  to  her  afterward,  disappointment, 
struggle,  but  never  so  heavy  and  dragging  a  pain  as 
she  knew  that  Christmas  Day. 

She  had  been  trying  in  many  unsuspected  ways  to 
relieve  her  father's  grim  misery,  —  a  misery  of  which 
his  gaunt  face  told  the  tale,  —  and  although  he  had 
said  that  he  wished  for  "no  flubdub  about  Christ 
mas,"  she  really  could  not  resist  making  some  recog 
nition  of  a  day  which  found  all  other  homes  happy. 
When  the  doctor  came  in  for  his  midday  meal,  Kate 
had  a  fire  leaping  in  the  old  grate  with  the  marble 
mantel  and  a  turkey  smoking  on  a  table  which  was 
set  forth  with  her  choicest  china  and  silver.  She 
had  even  gone  so  far  as  to  bring  out  a  dish  dis 
tinctly  reminiscent  of  her  mother,  —  the  delicious 
preserved  peaches,  which  had  awaked  unavailing 
envy  in  the  breasts  of  good  cooks  in  the  village. 
There  was  pudding,  too,  and  brandy  sauce,  and 
holly  for  decorations.  It  represented  a  very  mild 
excursion  into  the  land  of  festival,  but  it  was  too 
much  for  Dr.  Barrington. 

He  had  come  in  cold,  tired,  hungry,  and,  no 
doubt,  bitterly  sorrowful  at  the  bottom  of  his  per- 

34 


THE  PRECIPICE 

verse  heart.  He  discerned  Kate  in  white  —  it  was 
the  first  time  she  had  laid  off  her  mourning  —  and 
with  a  chain  of  her  mother's  about  her  neck.  Be 
yond,  he  saw  the  little  Christmas  feast  and  the  old 
silver  vase  on  the  table,  red  with  berries. 

"You  did  n't  choose  to  obey  my  orders,"  he  said 
coldly,  turning  his  unhappy  blue  eyes  on  her. 

"Your  orders?"  she  faltered. 

"There  was  to  be  no  fuss  and  feathers  of  any 
sort,"  he  said.  "Christmas  doesn't  represent  any 
thing  recognized  in  my  philosophy,  and  you  know  it. 
We've  had  enough  of  pretense  in  this  house.  I've 
been  working  to  get  things  on  a  sane  basis  and  I 
believed  you  were  sensible  enough  to  help  me.  But 
you  're  just  like  the  rest  of  them  —  you  're  like  all  of 
your  sex.  You  Ve  got  to  have  your  silly  play-time.  I 
may  as  well  tell  you  now  that  you  don't  give  me  any 
treat  when  you  give  me  turkey,  for  I  don't  like  it." 

"Oh,  dad!"  cried  Kate;  "you  do!  I've  seen  you 
eat  it  many  times!  Come,  really  it's  a  fine  dinner. 
I  helped  to  get  it.  Let's  have  a  good  time  for  once." 

"  I  have  plenty  of  good  times,  but  I  have  them  in 
my  own  way." 

"They  don't  include  me!"  cried  Kate,  her  lips 
quivering.  "You're  too  hard  on  me,  dad,  —  much 
too  hard.  I  can't  stand  it,  really." 

He  sat  down  to  the  table  and  ran  his  finger  over 
the  edge  of  the  carving-knife. 

"  It  would  n't  cut  butter,"  he  declared.  "  Martha, 
bring  me  the  steel!" 

35 


THE  PRECIPICE 

-  "I  sharpened  it,  sir,"  protested  Martha. 

"Sharpened  it,  did  you?  I  never  saw  a  woman 
yet  who  could  sharpen  a  knife." 

He  began  flashing  the  bright  steel,  and  the  women, 
their  day  already  in  ashes,  watched  him  fascin 
atedly.  He  was  waiting  to  pounce  on  them.  They 
knew  that  well  enough.  The  spirit  of  perversity  had 
him  by  the  throat  and  held  him,  writhing.  He 
carved  and  served,  and  then  turned  again  to  his 
daughter. 

"So  I  'm  too  hard  on  you,  am  I?"  he  said,  looking 
at  her  with  a  cold  glint  in  his  eye.  "I  provide  you 
with  a  first-class  education,  I  house  you,  clothe  you, 
keep  you  in  idleness,  and  I  'm  too  hard  on  you. 
What  do  you  expect?" 

"Why,  I  want  you  to  like  me,"  cried  Kate,  her 
face  flushing.  "  I  simply  want  to  be  your  daughter. 
I  want  you  to  take  me  out  with  you,  to  give  me 
things.  I  wanted  you  to  give  me  a  Christmas  pre 
sent.  I  want  other  things,  too,  —  things  that  are  not 
favors." 

She  paused  and  he  looked  at  her  with  a  tightening 
of  the  lips. 

"Go  on,"  he  said. 

"I  am  not  being  kept  in  idleness,  as  I  think  you 
know  very  well.  My  time  and  energies  are  given  to 
helping  you.  I  look  after  your  office  and  your  house. 
My  time  is  not  my  own.  I  devote  it  to  you.  I  want 
some  recognition  of  my  services  —  I  want  some 
money." 

36 


THE  PRECIPICE 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  answering  his  exas 
perated  frown  with  a  straight  look,  which  was, 
though  he  did  not  see  it,  only  a  different  sort  of 
anger  from  his  own. 

"Well,  you  won't  get  it,"  he  said.  "  You  won't  get 
it.  When  you  need  things  you  can  tell  me  and  I  '11 
get  them  for  you.  But  there's  been  altogether  too 
much  money  spent  in  this  house  in  years  gone  by  for 
trumpery.  You  know  that  well  enough.  What's  in 
that  chest  out  there  in  the  hall  ?  Trumpery !  What 's 
in  those  bureau  drawers  upstairs?  Truck!  Hun 
dreds  of  dollars,  that  might  have  been  put  out  where 
it  would  be  earning  something,  gone  into  mere  flub 
dub." 

He  paused  to  note  the  effect  of  his  words  and  saw 
that  he  had  scored.  Poor  Mrs.  Barrington,  strug 
gling  vaguely  and  darkly  in  her  own  feminine  way 
for  some  form  of  self-expression,  had  spent  her 
household  allowance  many  a  time  on  futile  odds  and 
ends.  She  had  haunted  the  bargain  counter,  and 
had  found  herself  unable  to  get  over  the  idea  that  a 
thing  cheaply  purchased  was  an  economic  triumph. 
So  in  drawers  and  chests  and  boxes  she  had  packed  her 
pathetic  loot  —  odds  and  ends  of  embroidery,  of 
dress  goods,  of  passementerie,  of  chair  coverings; 
dozens  of  spools  of  thread  and  crochet  cotton;  odd 
dishes;  jars  of  cold  cream;  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  the 
shops,  a  mere  wreckage  of  material.  Kate  remem 
bered  it  with  vicarious  shame  and  the  blood  that 
flowed  to  her  face  swept  on  into  her  brain.  She 

37 


THE  PRECIPICE 

flamed  with  loyalty  to  that  little  dead,  bewildered 
woman,  whose  feet  had  walked  so  falteringly  in  her 
search  for  the  roses  of  life.  And  she  said  — 

But  what  matter  what  she  said? 

Her  father  and  herself  were  at  the  antipodes,  and 
they  were  separated  no  less  by  their  similarities  than 
by  their  differences.  Their  wistful  and  inexpressive 
love  for  each  other  was  as  much  of  a  blight  upon  them 
as  their  inherent  antagonism.  The  sun  went  down 
that  bleak  Christmas  night  on  a  house  divided 
openly  against  itself. 

The  next  day  Kate  told  her  father  he  might  look 
for  some  one  else  to  run  his  house  for  him.  He  said 
he  had  already  done  so.  He  made  no  inquiry  where 
she  was  going.  He  would  not  offer  her  money, 
though  he  secretly  wanted  her  to  ask  for  it.  But 
it  was  past  that  with  her.  The  miserable,  bitter 
drama  —  the  tawdry  tragedy,  whose  most  desper 
ate  accent  was  its  shameful  approach  to  farce  — 
wore  itself  to  an  end. 

Kate  took  her  mother's  jewelry,  which  had  been 
left  to  her,  and  sold  it  at  the  local  jeweler's.  All 
Silvertree  knew  that  Kate  Barrington  had  left  her 
home  in  anger  and  that  her  father  had  shown  her  the 
back  of  his  hand. 


IV 

HONORA  FULHAM,  sitting  in  her  upper  room  and 
jealously  guarding  the  slumbers  of  Patience  and 
Patricia,  her  tiny  but  already  remarkable  twin 
daughters,  heard  a  familiar  voice  in  the  lower  hall 
way.  She  dropped  her  book,  "The  Psychological 
Significance  of  the  Family  Group,"  and  ran  to  the 
chamber  door.  A  second  later  she  was  hanging  over 
the  banisters. 

"Kate!"  she  called  with  a  penetrating  whisper. 
"You!" 

I  "Yes,  Honora,  it's  bad  Kate.  She's  come  to  you 
—  a  penny  nobody  else  wanted." 

Honora  Fulham  sailed  down  the  stairs  with  the 
generous  bearing  of  a  ship  answering  a  signal  of  dis 
tress.  The  women  fell  into  each  other's  arms,  and  in 
that  moment  of  communion  dismissed  all  those  little 
alien  half-feelings  which  grow  up  between  friends 
when  their  enlarging  experience  has  driven  them 
along  different  roads.  Honora  led  the  way  to  her 
austere  drawing-room,  from  which,  with  a  rigorous 
desire  to  economize  labor,  she  had  excluded  all  that 
was  superfluous,  and  there,  in  the  bare,  orderly 
room,  the  two  women  —  their  girlhood  definitely 
behind  them  —  faced  each  other.  Kate  noted  a  curi 
ous  retraction  in  Honora,  an  indescribable  retrench 
ment  of  her  old-time  self,  as  if  her  florescence  had 

39 


THE  PRECIPICE 

been  clipped  by  trained  hands,  so  that  the  bloom 
should  not  be  too  exuberant;  and  Honora  swiftly 
appraised  Kate's  suggestion  of  freedom  and  force. 

"Kate,"  she  announced,  "you  look  like  a  kind 
eagle." 

"A  wounded  one,  then,  Honora." 

"  You  Ve  a  story  for  me,  I  see.  Sit  down  and  tell 
it." 

So  Kate  told  it,  compelling  the  history  of  her 
humiliating  failure  to  stand  out  before  the  calm, 
adjudging  mind  of  her  friend. 

"But  oughtn't  we  to  forgive  everything  to  the 
old?"  cried  Honora  at  the  conclusion  of  the  re 
cital. 

"Oh,  is  father  old?"  responded  Kate  in  anguish. 
"He  doesn't  seem  old  —  only  formidable.  If  I'd 
thought  I  'd  been  wrong  I  never  would  have  come 
up  here  to  ask  you  to  sustain  me  in  my  obstinacy. 
Truly,  Honora,  it  isn't  a  question  of  age.  He's 
hardly  beyond  his  prime,  and  he  has  been  using  all 
of  his  will,  which  has  grown  strong  with  having  his 
own  way,  to  break  me  down  the  way  most  of  the 
men  in  Silvertree  have  broken  their  women  down.  I 
was  getting  to  be  just  like  the  others,  and  to  start 
when  I  heard  him  coming  in  at  the  door,  and  to  hide 
things  from  him  so  that  he  would  n't  rage.  I  'd  have 
been  lying  next." 

"Kate!" 

"Oh,  you  think  it  is  n't  decent  for  me  to  speak 
that  way  of  my  father!  You  can't  think  how  it 

40 


THE   PRECIPICE 

seems  to  me  —  how  —  how  irreligious !  But  let  me 
save  my  soul,  Honora!  Let  me  do  that!" 

The  girl's  pallid  face,  sharpened  and  intensified, 
bore  the  imprint  of  genuine  misery.  Honora 
Fulham,  strong  of  nerve  and  quick  of  understand 
ing,  embraced  her  with  a  full  sisterly  glance. 

"I  always  liked  and  trusted  you,  Kate,"  she  said. 
"I  was  sorry  when  our  ways  parted,  and  I'd  be 
happy  to  have  them  joined  again.  I  see  it 's  to  be  a 
hazard  of  new  fortune  for  you,  and  David  and  I  will 
stand  by.  I  don't  know,  of  course,  precisely  what 
that  may  mean,  but  we're  yours  to  command." 

A  key  turned  in  the  front  door. 

"There's  David  now,"  said  his  wife,  her  voice 
vibrating,  and  she  summoned  him. 

David  Fulham  entered  with  something  almost 
like  violence,  although  the  violence  did  not  lie  in  his 
gestures.  It  was  rather  in  the  manner  in  which  his 
personality  assailed  those  within  the  room.  Dark, 
with  an  attractive  ugliness,  arrogant,  with  restive 
and  fathomless  eyes,  he  seemed  to  unite  the  East 
and  the  West  in  his  being.  Had  his  mother  been  a 
Jewess  of  pride  and  intellect,  and  his  father  an  ad 
venturous  American  of  the  superman  type?  Kate, 
looking  at  him  with  fresh  interest,  found  her 
thoughts  leaping  to  the  surmise.  She  knew  that  he 
was,  in  a  way,  a  great  man  —  a  man  with  a  growing 
greatness.  He  had  promulgated  ideas  so  daring  that 
his  brother  scientists  were  embarrassed  to  know 


THE  PRECIPICE 

where  to  place  him.  There  were  those  who  thought 
of  him  as  a  brilliant  charlatan;  but  the  convincing 
intelligence  and  self-control  of  his  glance  repudiated 
that  idea.  The  Faust-like  aspect  of  the  man  might 
lay  him  open  to  the  suspicion  of  having  too  experi 
mental  and  inquisitive  a  mind.  But  he  had,  it  would 
seem,  no  need  for  charlatanism. 

He  came  forward  swiftly  and  grasped  Kate's  hand. 

"  I  remember  you  quite  well,"  he  said  in  his  deep, 
vibratory  tones.  "Are  you  here  for  graduate  work?  " 

"No,"  said  Kate;  "I'm  not  so  humble." 

"Not  so  humble?"  He  showed  his  magnificent 
teeth  in  a  flashing  but  somewhat  satiric  smile. 

"  I  'm  here  for  Life  —  not  for  study." 

"Not  'in  for  life,'  but  'out'  for  it,"  he  supple 
mented.  "  That 's  interesting.  What  is  Honora  sug 
gesting  to  you  ?  She 's  sure  to  have  a  theory  of  what 
will  be  best.  Honora  knows  what  will  be  best  for 
almost  everybody,  but  she  sometimes  has  trouble 
in  making  others  see  it  the  same  way." 

Honora  seemed  not  to  mind  his  chaffing. 

"Yes,"  she  agreed,  "I've  already  thought,  but  I 
have  n't  had  time  to  tell  Kate.  Do  you  remember 
that  Mrs.  Goodrich  said  last  night  at  dinner  that  her 
friend  Miss  Addams  was  looking  about  for  some  one 
to  take  the  place  of  a  young  woman  who  was  mar 
ried  the  other  day?  She  was  an  officer  of  the  Chil 
dren's  Protective  League,  you  remember." 

"Oh,  that — "  broke  in  Fulham.  He  turned  to 
ward  Kate  and  looked  her  over  from  head  to  foot, 

42 


THE  PRECIPICE 

till  the  girl  felt  a  hot  wave  of  indignation  sweep  over 
her.  But  his  glance  was  impersonal,  apparently. 
He  paid  no  attention  to  her  embarrassment.  He 
seemed  merely  to  be  getting  at  her  qualities  by  the 
swiftest  method.  "Well,"  he  said  finally,  "I  dare 
say  you're  right.  But  —  "he  hesitated. 

"Well?"  prompted  his  wife. 

" But  won't  it  be  rather  a  —  a  waste?"  he  asked. 
And  again  he  smiled,  this  time  with  some  hidden 
meaning. 

"Of  course  it  won't  be  a  waste,"  declared  Honora. 
"Are  n't  women  to  serve  their  city  as  well  as  men? 
It's  a  practical  form  of  patriotism,  according  to  my 
mind." 

Kate  broke  into  a  nervous  laugh. 

"  I  hope  I  'm  to  be  of  some  use,"  she  said.  "Work 
can't  come  a  moment  too  soon  for  me.  I  was  be 
ginning  to  think  — " 

She  paused. 

"Well?  "supplied  Fulham,  still  with  that  watchful 
regard  of  her. 

"Oh,  that  I  had  made  a  mistake  about  myself  — 
that  I  was  n't  going  to  be  anything  in  particular, 
after  all." 

They  were  interrupted.  A  man  sprang  up  the 
outside  steps  and  rang  the  doorbell  imperatively. 

"It's  Karl  Wander,"  announced  Fulham,  who 
had  glanced  through  the  window.  "It's  your 
cousin,  Honora." 

43 


THE  PRECIPICE 

He  went  to  the  door,  and  Kate  heard  an  emphatic 
and  hearty  voice  making  hurried  greetings. 

"Stopped  between  trains,"  it  was  saying.  "Can 
stay  ten  minutes  precisely  —  not  a  second  longer,. 
Came  to  see  the  babies." 

Honora  had  arisen  with  a  little  cry  and  gone  to 
the  door.  Now  she  returned,  hanging  on  to  the  arm 
of  a  weather-tanned  man. 

"Miss  Barrington,"  she  said,  "my  cousin,  Mr. 
Wander.  Oh,  Karl,  you're  not  serious?  You  don't 
really  mean  that  you  can't  stay  —  not  even  over 
night?" 

The  man  turned  his  warm  brown  eyes  on  Kate 
and  she  looked  at  him  expectantly,  because  he  was 
Honora's  cousin.  For  the  time  it  takes  to  draw  a 
breath,  they  gazed  at  each  other.  Oddly  enough, 
Kate  thought  of  Ray  McCrea,  who  was  across  the 
water,  and  whose  absence  she  had  not  regretted. 
She  could  not  tell  why  her  thoughts  turned  to  him. 
This  man  was  totally  unlike  Ray.  He  was,  indeed, 
unlike  any  one  she  ever  had  known.  There  was  that 
about  him  which  held  her.  It  was  not  quite  assertion ; 
perhaps  it  was  competence.  But  it  was  competence 
that  seemed  to  go  without  tyranny,  and  that  was 
something  new  in  her  experience  of  men.  He  looked 
at  her  on  a  level,  spiritually,  querying  as  to  who  she 
might  be. 

The  magical  moment  passed.  Honora  and  David 
were  talking.  They  ran  away  up  the  stairs  with 
their  guest,  inviting  Kate  to  follow. 

44 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"I'll  only  be  in  the  way  now,"  she  called.  "By 
and  by  I  '11  have  the  babies  all  to  myself." 

Yet  after  she  had  said  this,  she  followed,  and 
looked  into  the  nursery,  which  was  at  the  rear  of  the 
house.  Honora  had  thrust  the  two  children  into  her 
cousin's  big  arms  and  she  and  David  stood  laugh 
ing  at  him.  Another  man  might  have  appeared 
ridiculous  in  this  position ;  but  it  did  not,  apparently, 
occur  to  Karl  Wander  to  be  self-conscious.  He  was 
wrapped  in  contemplation  of  the  babies,  and  when 
he  peered  over  their  heads  at  Kate,  he  was  quite 
grave  and  at  ease. 

Then,  before  it  could  be  realized,  he  was  off  again. 
He  had  kissed  Honora  and  congratulated  her,  and 
he  and  Kate  had  again  clasped  hands. 

"Sorry,"  he  said,  in  his  explosive  way,  "that  we 
part  so  soon."  He  held  her  hand  a  second  longer, 
gave  it  a  sudden  pressure,  and  was  gone. 

Honora  shut  the  door  behind  him  reluctantly. 

"So  like  Karl!"  she  laughed.  "It's  the  second 
time  he's  been  in  my  house  since  I  was  married." 

"  You  'd  think  we  had  the  plague,  the  way  he  runs 
from  us,"  said  David. 

"Oh,"  responded  Honora,  not  at  all  disturbed, 
" Karl  is  forever  on  important  business.  He's  prob 
ably  been  to  New  York  to  some  directors'  meeting. 
Now  he 's  on  his  way  to  Denver,  he  says  — '  men  wait 
ing.'  That's  Karl's  way.  To  think  of  his  dashing  up 
here  between  trains  to  see  my  babies!"  The  tears 
came  to  her  eyes.  "  Don't  you  think  he's  fine,  Kate?" 

45 


THE   PRECIPICE 

The  truth  was,  there  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  vac 
uum  in  the  air  since  he  had  left  —  as  if  he  had 
taken  the  vitality  of  it  with  him. 

"But  where  does  he  live?"  she  asked  Honora. 

''Address  him  beyond  the  Second  Divide,  and 
he'll  be  reached.  Everybody  knows  him  there.  His 
post-office  bears  his  own  name  —  Wander." 

"He's  a  miner?" 

"How  did  you  know?" 

"Oh,  by  process  of  elimination.  What  else  could 
he  be?" 

"Nothing  else  in  all  the  world,"  agreed  David 
Fulham.  "I  tell  Honora  he's  a  bit  mad." 

"No,  no,"  Honora  laughed;  "he's  not  mad;  he's 
merely  Western.  How  startled  you  look,  Kate  — 
as  if  you  had  seen  an  apparition." 

It  was  decided  that  Kate  was  to  stay  there  at  the 
Fulhams',  and  to  use  one  of  their  several  unoccu 
pied  rooms.  Kate  chose  one  that  looked  over  the 
Midway,  and  her  young  strength  made  nothing  of 
the  two  flights  of  stairs  which  she  had  to  climb  to 
get  to  it.  At  first  the  severity  of  the  apartment  re 
pelled  her,  but  she  had  no  money  with  which  to 
make  it  more  to  her  taste,  and  after  a  few  hours  its 
very  barrenness  made  an  appeal  to  her.  It  seemed  to 
be  like  her  own  life,  in  need  of  decoration,  and  she 
was  content  to  let  things  take  their  course.  It 
seemed  probable  that  roses  would  bloom  in  their 
time. 

46 


THE   PRECIPICE 

No  one,  it  transpired,  ate  in  the  house. 

"I  found  out,"  explained  Honora,  "that  I  could 
n't  be  elaborately  domestic  and  have  a  career,  too, 
so  I  went,  with  some  others  of  similar  convictions 
and  circumstances,  into  a  cooperative  dining-room 
scheme." 

Kate  gave  an  involuntary  shrug  of  her  shoulders. 

"You  think  that  sounds  desolate?  Wait  till  you 
see  us  all  together.  This  talk  about  'home'  is  all 
very  well,  but  I  happen  to  know  —  and  I  fancy  you 
do,  too  —  that  home  can  be  a  particularly  stultify 
ing  place.  When  people  work  as  hard  as  we  do,  a 
little  contact  with  outsiders  is  stimulating.  But 
you'll  see  for  yourself.  Mrs.  Dennison,  a  very  fine 
woman,  a  widow,  looks  after  things  for  us.  Dr.  von 
Shierbrand,  one  of  our  number,  got  to  calling  the 
place  'The  Caravansary,'  and  now  we've  all  fallen 
into  the  way  of  it." 

The  Caravansary  was  but  a  few  doors  from  the 
Fulhams';  an  old-fashioned,  hospitable  affair,  with 
high  ceilings,  white  marble  mantels,  and  narrow 
windows.  Mrs.  Dennison,  the  house-mother,  suited 
the  place  well.  Her  widow's  cap  and  bands  seemed 
to  go  with  the  grave  pretentiousness  of  the  rooms, 
to  which  she  had  succeeded  in  giving  almost  a  per 
sonal  atmosphere.  There  was  room  for  her  goldfish 
and  her  half-dozen  canary  cages  as  well  as  for  her 
"  cooperators "  — no  one  there  would  permit  him 
self  to  be  called  a  boarder. 

Kate,  sensitive  from  her  isolation  and  sore  from 
47 


THE   PRECIPICE 

her  sorrows,  had  imagined  that  she  would  resent  the 
familiarities  of  those  she  would  be  forced  to  meet  on 
table  terms.  But  what  was  the  use  in  trying  to 
resent  Marna  Cartan,  the  young  Irish  girl  who 
meant  to  make  a  great  singer  of  herself,  and  who 
evidently  looked  upon  the  world  as  a  place  of  rare 
and  radiant  entertainment?  As  for  Mrs.  Barsaloux, 
Marna's  patron  and  benefactor,  with  her  world- 
weary  eyes  and  benevolent  smile,  who  could  turn  a 
cold  shoulder  to  her  solicitudes?  Then  there  were 
Wickersham  and  Von  Shierbrand,  members,  like 
Fulham,  of  the  faculty  of  the  University.  The  Ap- 
plegates  and  the  Goodriches  were  pleasant  folk, 
rather  settled  in  their  aspect,  and  all  of  literary 
leanings.  The  Applegates  were  identified  —  both 
husband  and  wife  —  with  a  magazine  of  literary 
criticism;  Mr.  Goodrich  ran  a  denominational  paper 
with  aii  academic  flavor;  Mrs.  Goodrich  was  presi 
dent  of  an  orphan  asylum  and  spent  her  days  in 
good  works.  Then,  intermittently,  the  company 
was  joined  by  George  Fitzgerald,  a  preoccupied 
young  physician,  the  nephew  of  Mrs.  Dennison. 

They  all  greeted  Kate  with  potential  friendship 
in  their  faces,  and  she  could  not  keep  back  her  feel 
ing  of  involuntary  surprise  at  the  absence  of  any 
thing  like  suspicion.  Down  in  Silver  tree  if  a  new 
woman  had  come  into  a  boarding-house,  they  would 
have  wondered  why.  Here  they  seemed  tacitly  to 
say,  "Why  not?" 

Mrs.  Dennison  seated  Kate  between  Dr.  von 

48 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Shierbrand  and  Marna  Cartan.  Opposite  to  her  sat 
Mrs.  Goodrich  with  her  quiet  smile.  Everyone  had 
something  pleasant  to  say;  when  Kate  spoke,  all 
were  inclined  to  listen.  The  atmosphere  was  quiet, 
urbane,  gracious.  Even  David  Fulham's  exotic  per 
sonality  seemed  to  soften  under  the  regard  of  Mrs. 
Dennison's  gray  eyes. 

"Really,"  Kate  concluded,  "I  believe  I  can  be 
happy  here.  All  I  need  is  a  chance  to  earn  my  bread 
and  butter." 

i  And  what  with  the  intervention  of  the  Good- 
riches  and  the  recommendation  of  the  Fulhams, 
that  opportunity  soon  came. 


V 

A  FORTNIGHT  later  she  was  established  as  an  officer 
of  the  Children's  Protective  Association,  an  organi 
zation  with  a  self-explanatory  name,  instituted  by 
women,  and  chiefly  supported  by  them.  She  was 
given  an  inexhaustible  task,  police  powers,  head 
quarters  at  Hull  House,  and  a  vocation  demanding 
enough  to  satisfy  even  her  desire  for  spiritual  adven 
ture. 

It  was  her  business  to  adjust  the  lives  of  children 
—  which  meant  that  she  adjusted  their  parents' 
lives  also.  She  arranged  the  disarranged ;  played  the 
providential  part,  exercising  the  powers  of  interven 
tion  which  in  past  times  belonged  to  the  priest,  but 
which,  in  the  days  of  commercial  feudalism,  de 
volve  upon  the  social  workers. 

Her  work  carried  her  into  the  lowest  strata  of  so 
ciety,  and  her  compassion,  her  efficiency,  and  her 
courage  were  daily  called  upon.  Perhaps  she  might 
have  found  herself  lacking  in  the  required  measure 
of  these  qualities,  being  so  young  and  inexperienced, 
had  it  not  been  that  she  was  in  a  position  to  concen 
trate  completely  upon  her  task.  She  knew  how  to 
listen  and  to  learn ;  she  knew  how  to  read  and  apply. 
She  went  into  her  new  work  with  a  humble  spirit, 
and  this  humility  offset  whatever  was  aggressive  and 
militant  in  her.  The  death  of  her  mother  and  the 

50 


THE  PRECIPICE 

aloofness  of  her  father  had  turned  all  her  ardors 
back  upon  herself.  They  found  vent  now  in  her 
new  work,  and  she  was  not  long  in  perceiving  that 
she  needed  those  whom  she  was  called  upon  to  serve 
quite  as  much  as  they  needed  her. 

Mrs.  Barsaloux  and  Mania  Carton,  who  had  been 
shopping,  met  Kate  one  day  crossing  the  city  with 
a  baby  in  her  arms  and  two  miserable  little  children 
clinging  to  her  skirts.  Hunger  and  neglect  had  given 
these  poor  small  derelicts  that  indescribable  appear 
ance  of  depletion  and  shame  which,  once  seen,  is 
never  to  be  confused  with  anything  else. 

"My  goodness!"  cried  Mrs.  Barsaloux,  glowering 
at  Kate  through  her  veil;  "what  sort  of  work  is  this 
you  are  doing,  Miss  Barrington?  Are  n't  you  afraid 
of  becoming  infected  with  some  dreadful  disease? 
Wherever  do  you  find  the  fortitude  to  be  seen  in 
the  company  of  such  wretched  little  creatures?  I 
would  like  to  help  them  myself,  but  I'd  never  be 
willing  to  carry  such  filthy  little  bags  of  misery 
around  with  me." 

Kate  smiled  cheerfully. 

"We've  just  put  their  mother  in  the  Bridewell," 
she  said,  "and  their  father  is  in  the  police  station 
awaiting  trial.  The  poor  dears  are  going  to  be  clean 
for  once  in  their  lives  and  have  a  good  supper  in  the 
bargain.  Maybe  they'll  be  taken  into  good  homes 
eventually.  They're  lovely  children,  really.  You 
have  n't  looked  at  them  closely  enough,  Mrs.  Barsa 
loux."  , 

51 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"  I  'm  just  as  close  to  them  as  I  want  to  be,  thank 
you,"  said  the  lady,  drawing  back  involuntarily. 
But  she  reached  for  her  purse  and  gave  Kate  a  bill. 

"Would  this  help  toward  getting  them  some 
thing?"  she  asked. 

Marna  laughed  delightedly. 

"  I  'm  sure  they  're  treasures,"  she  said.  "May  n't 
I  help  Miss  Barrington  take  them  to  wherever 
they're  going,  tante?  I  shan't  catch  a  thing,  and  I 
love  to  know  what  becomes  of  homeless  children." 

Kate  saw  a  look  of  acute  distress  on  Mrs.  Barsa- 
loux's  face. 

"This  is  n't  your  game  just  now,  Miss  Cartan," 
Kate  said  in  her  downright  manner.  "It's  mine. 
I'm  moving  my  pawns  here  and  there,  trying  to 
find  the  best  places  for  them.  It's  quite  exhilarat- 
ing." 

Her  arms  were  aching  and  she  moved  the  heavy 
baby  from  one  shoulder  to  the  other. 

"A  game,  is  it?"  asked  the  Irish  girl.  "And  who 
wins?" 

"The  children,  I  hope.  I'm  on  the  side  of  the 
children  first  and  last." 

"Oh,  so  am  I.  I  think  it 's  just  magnificent  of  you 
to  help  them." 

Kate  disclaimed  the  magnificence. 

"You  mustn't  forget  that  I'm  doing  it  for 
money,"  she  said.  "It's  my  job.  I  hope  I'll  do  it 
well  enough  to  win  the  reputation  of  being  honest, 
but  you  mustn't  think  there's  anything  saintly 

52 


THE  PRECIPICE 

about  me,  because  there  is  n't.  Good-bye.  Hold  on 
tight,  children!" 

She  nodded  cheerfully  and  moved  on,  fresh, 
strong,  determined,  along  the  crowded  thoroughfare, 
the  people  making  way  for  her  smilingly.  She  saw 
nothing  of  the  attention  paid  her.  She  was  wonder 
ing  if  her  arms  would  hold  out  or  if,  in  some  un 
guarded  moment,  the  baby  would  slip  from  them. 
Perhaps  the  baby  was  fearful,  too,  for  it  reached  up 
its  little  clawlike  hands  and  clasped  her  tight  about 
the  neck.  Kate  liked  the  feeling  of  those  little  hands, 
and  was  sorry  when  they  relaxed  and  the  wearyjittle 
one  fell  asleep. 

Each  day  brought  new  problems.  If  she  could 
have  decided  these  by  mere  rule  of  common  sense, 
her  new  vocation  might  not  have  puzzled  her  as 
much  as  it  did.  But  it  was  uncommon,  superfine, 
intuitive  sense  that  was  required.  She  discovered, 
for  example,  that  not  only  was  sin  a  virtue  in  dis 
guise,  but  that  a  virtue  might  be  degraded  into  a  sin. 

She  put  this  case  to  Honora  and  David  one  even 
ing  as  the  three  of  them  sat  in  Honora's  drawing- 
room. 

"It's  the  case  of  Peggy  Dunn,"  she  explained. 
"Peggy  likes  life.  She  has  brighter  eyes  than  she 
knows  what  to  do  with  and  more  smiles  than  she  has 
a  chance  to  distribute.  She  has  finished  her  course 
at  the  parochial  school  and  she 's  clerking  in  a  down 
town  store.  That  is  slow  going  for  Peggy,  so  she 
evens  things  up  by  attending  the  Saturday  night 

53 


THE  PRECIPICE 

dances.  When  she's  whirling  around  the  hall  on  the 
tips  of  her  toes,  she  really  feels  like  herself.  She  gets 
home  about  two  in  the  morning  on  these  occasions 
and  finds  her  mother  waiting  up  for  her  and  kneeling 
before  a  little  statue  of  the  Virgin  that  stands  in  the 
corner  of  the  sitting-room.  As  soon  as  the  mother 
sees  Peggy,  she  pounces  on  her  and  weeps  on  her 
shoulder,  and  after  Peggy 's  in  bed  and  dead  with  the 
tire  in  her  legs,  her  mother  gets  down  beside  the  bed 
and  prays  some  more.  'What  would  you  do,  please,' 
says  Peggy  to  me,  'if  you  had  a  mother  that  kept 
crying  and  praying  every  time  you  had  a  bit  of 
fun?  Would  n't  you  run  away  from  home  and  get 
where  they  took  things  aisier? ' ' 

David  threw  back  his  head  and  roared  in  sympa 
thetic  commendation  of  Peggy's  point  of  view. 

"  Poor  little  mother,"  sighed  Honora.  "  I  suppose 
she  '11  send  her  girl  straight  on  the  road  to  perdition 
and  never  know  what  did  it." 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it,"  said  Kate.  "  I  don't  believe 
in  letting  her  go  to  perdition  at  all.  I  went  around  to 
see  the  mother  and  I  put  the  responsibility  on  her. 
'Every  time  you  make  Peggy  laugh,'  I  said,  'you 
can  count  it  for  glory.  Every  time  you  make  her 
swear,  —  for  she  does  swear,  —  you  can  know 
you've  blundered.  Why  don't  you  give  her  some 
parties  if  you  don't  want  her  to  be  going  out  to 
them?'"  ' 

"How  did  she  take  that?"  asked  Honora. 

"It  bothered  her  a  good  deal  at  first,  but  when  I 

54 


THE  PRECIPICE 

went  down  to  meet  Peggy  the  other  day  as  she  came 
out  of  the  store,  she  told  me  her  mother  had  had  the 
little  bisque  Virgin  moved  into  her  own  bedroom  and 
that  she  had  put  a  talking-machine  in  the  place  where 
it  had  stood.  I  told  Peggy  the  talking-machine  was 
just  a  new  kind  of  prayer,  meant  to  make  her  happy, 
and  that  it  would  n't  do  for  her  to  let  her  mother's 
prayers  go  unanswered.  'Any  one  with  eyes  like 
yours,'  I  said  to  her,  'is  bound  to  have  beaux  in 
plenty,  but  you  Ve  only  one  mother  and  you  'd  bet 
ter  hang  on  to  her." 

"Then  what  did  she  say?"  demanded  the  inter 
ested  Honora. 

"She 's  an  impudent  little  piece.  She  said, '  You  Ve 
some  eyes  yourself,  Miss  Barrington,  but  I  suppose 
you  know  how  to  make  them  behave.' " 

"Better  marry  that  girl  as  soon  as  you  can,  Miss 
Barrington,"  counseled  David;  "that  is,  if  any 
hymeneal  authority  is  vested  in  you." 

"That's  what  Peggy  wanted  to  know,"  admitted 
Kate.  "She  said  to  me  the  other  day:  'Ain't  you 
Cupid,  Miss  Barrington?  I  heard  about  a  match  you 
made  up,  and  it  was  all  right  —  the  real  thing,  sure 
enough.'  'Have  you  a  job  for  me  —  supposing  I 
was  Cupid?'  I  asked.  That  set  her  off  in  a  gale.  So 
I  suppose  there 's  something  up  Peggy's  very  short 
sleeves." 

The  Fulhams  liked  to  hear  her  stories,  particu 
larly  as  she  kept  the  amusing  or  the  merely  pathetic 
ones  for  them,  refraining  from  telling  them  of  the 

55 


THE  PRECIPICE 

unspeakable,  obscene  tragedies  which  daily  came  to 
her  notice.  It  might  have  been  supposed  that  scenes 
such  as  these  would  so  have  revolted  her  that  she 
could  not  endure  to  deal  with  them ;  but  this  was  far 
from  being  the  case.  The  greater  the  need  for  her 
help,  the  more  determined  was  she  to  meet  the  de« 
mand.  She  had  plenty  of  superiors  whom  she  could 
consult,  and  she  suffered  less  from  disgust  or  timid 
ity  than  any  one  could  have  supposed  possible. 
\  The  truth  was,  she  was  grateful  for  whatever 
absorbed  her  and  kept  her  from  dwelling  upon  that 
dehumanized  house  at  Silvertree.  Her  busy  days 
enabled  her  to  fight  her  sorrow  very  well,  but  in  the 
night,  like  a  wailing  child,  her  longing  for  her  mother 
awoke,  and  she  nursed  it,  treasuring  it  as  those 
freshly  bereaved  often  do.  The  memory  of  that 
little  frustrated  soul  made  her  tender  of  all  women, 
and  too  prone,  perhaps,  to  lay  to  some  man  the 
blame  of  their  shortcomings.  She  had  no  realization, 
that  she  had  set  herself  in  this  subtle  and  subcon 
scious  way  against  men.  But  whether  she  admitted 
it  or  not,  the  fact  remained  that  she  stood  with  her 
sisters,  whatever  their  estate,  leagued  secretly 
j«  against  the  other  sex. 

By  way  of  emphasizing  her  devotion  to  her  work, 
she  ceased  answering  Ray  McCrea's  letters.  She 
studiously  avoided  the  attentions  of  the  men  she  met 
at  the  Settlement  House  and  at  Mrs.  Dennison's 
Caravansary.  Sometimes,  without  her  realizing  it, 
her  thoughts  took  on  an  almost  morbid  hue,  so  that, 

56 


THE   PRECIPICE 

looking  at  Honora  with  her  chaste,  kind,  uplifted 
face,  she  resented  her  close  association  with  her 
husband.  It  seemed  offensive  that  he,  with  his  curi 
ous,  half-restrained  excesses  of  temperament,  should 
have  domination  over  her  friend  who  stood  so  obvi 
ously  for  abnegation.  David  manifestly  was  averse 
to  bounds  and  limits.  All  that  was  wild  and  desirous 
of  adventure  in  Kate  informed  her  of  like  qualities 
in  this  man.  But  she  held  —  and  meant  always  to 
hold  —  the  restless  falcons  of  her  spirit  in  leash. 
Would  David  Fulham  do  as  much?  She  could  not  be 
quite  sure,  and  instinctively  she  avoided  anything 
approaching  intimacy  with  him. 

He  was  her  friend's  husband.  "Friend's  hus 
band"  was  a  sort  of  limbo  into  which  men  were 
dropped  by  scrupulous  ladies;  so  Kate  decided,  with 
a  frown  at  herself  for  having  even  thought  that 
David  could  wish  to  emerge  from  that  nondescript 
place  of  spiritual  residence.  Anyway,  she  did  not 
completely  like  him,  though  she  thought  him  extra 
ordinary  and  stimulating,  and  when  Honora  told  her 
something  of  the  great  discovery  which  the  two  of 
them  appeared  to  be  upon  the  verge  of  making  con 
cerning  the  germination  of  life  without  parental 
interposition,  she  had  little  doubt  that  David  was 
wizard  enough  to  carry  it  through.  He  would  have 
the  daring,  and  Honora  the  industry,  and  —  she 
reflected  —  if  renown  came,  that  would  be  David's 
beyond  all  peradventure. 

No  question  about  it,  Kate's  thoughts  were 

57 


THE  PRECIPICE 

satiric  these  days.  She  was  still  bleeding  from  the 
wound  which  her  father  had  inflicted,  and  she  did 
not  suspect  that  it  was  wounded  affection  rather 
than  hurt  self-respect  which  was  tormenting  her. 
She  only  knew  that  she  shrank  from  men,  and  that 
at  times  she  liked  to  imagine  what  sort  of  a  world 
it  would  be  if  there  were  no  men  in  it  at  all. 

Meantime  she  met  men  every  day,  and  whether 
she  was  willing  to  admit  it  or  not,  the  facts  were  that 
they  helped  her  on  her  way  with  brotherly  good 
will,  and  as  they  saw  her  going  about  her  singular 
and  heavy  tasks,  they  gave  her  their  silent  good 
wishes,  and  hoped  that  the  world  of  pain  and  shame 
would  not  too  soon  destroy  what  was  gallant  and 

.  trustful  in  her. 
V 

But  here  has  been  much  anticipation.  To  go  back 
to  the  beginning,  at  the  end  of  her  first  week  in  the 
city  she  had  a  friend.  It  was  Marna  Cartan.  They 
had  fallen  into  the  way  of  talking  together  a  few 
minutes  before  or  after  dinner,  and  Kate  would 
hasten  her  modest  dinner  toilet  in  order  to  have 
these  few  marginal  moments  with  this  palpitating 
young  creature  who  moved  to  unheard  rhythms,  and 
whose  laughter  was  the  sweetest  thing  she  had  yet 
heard  in  a  city  of  infinite  dissonances. 

"You  don't  know  how  to  account  for  me  very 
well,  do  you?"  taunted  Marna  daringly,  when  they 
had  indulged  their  inclination  for  each  other's 
society  for  a  few  days.  "You  wonder  about  me  be- 

58 


THE  PRECIPICE 

cause  I  'm  so  streaked.  I  suppose  you  see  vestiges  of 
the  farm  girl  peeping  through  the  operatic  student. 
Would  n't  you  like  me  to  explain  myself?" 

She  had  an  iridescent  personality,  made  up  of 
sudden  shynesses,  of  bright  flashes  of  bravado,  of 
tenderness  and  hauteur,  and  she  contrived  to  be  fas 
cinating  in  all  of  them.  She  held  Kate  as  the  Ancient 
Mariner  held  the  wedding-guest. 

"Of  course  I'd  love  to  know  all  about  you,"  an 
swered  Kate.  "  Inquisitiveness  is  the  most  marked 
of  my  characteristics.  But  I  don't  want  you  to  tell 
me  any  more  than  I  deserve  to  hear." 

"You  deserve  everything,"  cried  Marna,  seizing 
Kate's  firm  hand  in  her  own  soft  one,  "because  you 
understand  friendship.  Why,  I  always  said  it  could 
be  as  swift  and  surprising  as  love,  and  just  as  mys 
terious.  You  take  it  that  way,  too,  so  you  deserve  a 
great  deal.  Well,  to  begin  with,  I'm  Irish." 

Kate's  laugh  could  be  heard  as  far  as  the  kitchen, 
where  Mrs.  Dennison  was  wishing  the  people  would 
come  so  that  she  could  dish  up  the  soup.  Marna 
laughed,  too. 

"You  guessed  it?"  she  cried.  She  did  n't  seem  to 
think  it  so  obvious  as  Kate's  laugh  indicated. 

"You  don't  leave  a  thing  to  the  imagination  in 
that  direction,"  Kate  cried.  "  Irish?  As  Irish  as  the 
shamrock!  Go  on." 

"Dear  me,  I  want  to  begin  so  far  back!  You  see, 
I  don't  merely  belong  to  modern  Ireland.  I'm — 
well,  I'm  traditional.  At  least,  Great-Grandfather 

59 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Cartan,  who  came  over  to  Wisconsin  with  a  com 
pany  of  immigrants,  could  tell  you  things  about  our 
ancestors  that  would  make  you  feel  as  if  we  came  up 
out  of  the  Irish  hills.  And  great-grandfather,  he 
actually  looked  legendary  himself.  Why,  do  you 
know,  he  came  over  with  these  people  to  be  their 
story-teller!" 

"Their  story- teller?" 

"Yes,  just  that  —  their  minstrel,  you  understand. 
And  that's  what  my  people  were,  'way  back,  min 
strels.  All  the  way  over  on  the  ship,  when  the  people 
were  weeping  for  homesickness,  or  sitting  dreaming 
about  the  new  land,  or  falling  sick,  or  getting  wild 
and  vicious,  it  was  great-granddaddy's  place  to 
bring  them  to  themselves  with  his  stories.  Then 
when  they  all  went  on  to  Wisconsin  and  took  up 
their  land,  they  selected  a  small  beautiful  piece  for 
great-grandfather,  and  built  him  a  log  house,  and 
helped  him  with  his  crops.  He,  for  his  part,  went 
over  the  countryside  and  was  welcomed  everywhere, 
and  carried  all  the  friendly  news  and  gossip  he 
could  gather,  and  sat  about  the  fire  nights,  telling 
tales  of  the  old  times,  and  keeping  the  ancient 
stories  and  the  ancient  tongue  alive  for  them." 

"You  mean  he  used  the  Gaelic?" 

"What  else  would  he  be  using,  and  himself  the 
descendant  of  minstrels?  But  after  a  time  he  learned 
the  English,  too,  and  he  used  that  in  his  latter 
years  because  the  understanding  of  the  Gaelic  began 
to  die  out." 

60 


THE  PRECIPICE 

''How  wonderful  he  must  have  been!" 

"Wonderful?  For  eighty  years  he  held  sway  over 
the  hearts  of  them,  and  was  known  as  the  best  story 
teller  of  them  all.  This  was  the  more  interesting,  you 
see,  because  every  year  they  gathered  at  a  certain 
place  to  have  a  story- telling  contest;  and  great 
grandfather  was  voted  the  master  of  them  until  — " 

Marna  hesitated,  and  a  flush  spread  over  her  face. 

"Until— "urged  Kate. 

"Until  a  young  man  came  along.  Finnegan,  his 
name  was.  He  was  no  more  than  a  commercial 
traveler  who  heard  of  the  gathering  and  came  up 
there,  and  he  capped  stories  with  great-grandfather, 
and  it  went  on  till  all  the  people  were  thick  about  them 
like  bees  around  a  flower-pot.  Four  days  it  lasted, 
and  away  into  the  night ;  and  in  the  end  they  took  the 
prize  from  great-grandfather  and  gave  it  to  Gerlie 
Finnegan.  And  that  broke  great-granddad's  heart." 

"He  died?" 

"Yes,  he  died.  A  hundred  and  ten  he  was,  and 
for  eighty  years  had  been  the  king  of  them.  When  he 
was  gone,  it  left  me  without  anybody  at  all,  you  see. 
So  that  was  how  I  happened  to  go  down  to  Baraboo 
to  earn  my  living." 

"What  were  you  doing?" 

Marna  looked  at  the  tip  of  her  slipper  for  a 
moment,  reflectively.  Then  she  glanced  up  at  Kate, 
throwing  a  supplicating  glance  from  the  blue  eyes 
which  looked  as  if  they  were  snared  behind  their 
long  dark  lashes. 

61 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"  I  would  n't  be  telling  everybody  that  asked  me," 
she  said.  "But  I  was  singing  at  the  moving-picture 
show,  and  Mrs.  Barsaloux  came  in  there  and  heard 
me.  Then  she  asked  me  to  live  with  her  and  go  to 
Europe,  and  I  did,  and  she  paid  for  the  best  music 
lessons  for  me  everywhere,  and  now  — " 

She  hesitated,  drawing  in  a  long  breath;  then  she 
arose  and  stood  before  Kate,  breathing  deep,  and 
looking  like  a  shining  butterfly  free  of  its  chrysalis 
and  ready  to  spread  its  emblazoned  wings. 

"Yes,  bright  one!"  cried  Kate,  glowing  with 
admiration.  "What  now?" 

"Why,  now,  you  know,  I'm  to  go  in  opera.  The 
manager  of  the  Chicago  Opera  Company  has  been 
Mrs.  Barsaloux's  friend  these  many  years,  and  she 
has  had  him  try  out  my  voice.  And  he  likes  it.  He 
says  he  does  n't  care  if  I  have  n't  had  the  usual 
amount  of  training,  because  I  'm  really  born  to  sing, 
you  see.  Perhaps  that's  my  inheritance  from  the 
old  minstrels  —  for  they  chanted  their  ballads  and 
epics,  did  n't  they?  Anyway,  I  really  can  sing.  And 
I'm  to  make  my  debut  this  winter  in  'Madame 
Butterfly.'  Just  think  of  that!  Oh,  I  love  Puccini! 
I  can  understand  a  musician  like  that  —  a  man  who 
makes  music  move  like  thoughts,  flurrying  this  way 
and  blowing  that.  It's  to  be  very  soon  —  my  debut. 
And  then  I  can  make  up  to  Mrs.  Barsaloux  for  all 
she's  done  for  me.  Oh,  there  come  all  the  people! 
You  must  n't  let  Mrs.  Fulham  know  how  I  've  chat 
tered.  I  would  n't  dare  talk  about  myself  like  that 

62 


THE   PRECIPICE 

before  her.  This  is  just  for  you  —  I  knew  you 
wanted  to  know  about  me.  I  want  to  know  all  about 
you,  too." 

"Oh,"  said  Kate,  "you  must  n't  expect  me  to  tell 
my  story.  I  'm  different  from  you.  I  'm  not  born  for 
anything  in  particular  —  I  Ve  no  talents  to  point 
out  my  destiny.  I  keep  being  surprised  and  frus 
trated.  It  looks  to  me  as  if  I  were  bound  to  make  mis 
takes.  There's  something  wrong  with  me.  Some 
times  I  think  that  I  'm  not  womanly  enough  —  that 
there's  too  much  of  the  man  in  my  disposition,  and 
that  the  two  parts  of  me  are  always  going  to  struggle 
and  clash." 

Chairs  were  being  drawn  up  to  the  table. 

"  Come ! "  called  Dr.  von  Shierbrand.  "  Can't  you 
young  ladies  take  time  enough  off  to  eat?" 

He  looked  ready  for  conversation,  and  Kate  went 
smilingly  to  sit  beside  him.  She  knew  he  expected 
women  to  be  amusing,  and  she  found  it  agreeable  to 
divert  him.  She  understood  the  classroom  fag  from 
which  he  was  suffering;  and,  moreover,  after  all  those 
austere  meals  with  her  father,  it  really  was  an  ex 
citement  and  a  pleasure  to  talk  with  an  amiable  and 
complimentary  man. 


VI 

"WE'RE  to  have  a  new  member  in  the  family, 
Kate,"  Honora  said  one  morning,  as  she  and  Kate 
made  their  way  together  to  the  Caravansary.  "  It's 
my  cousin,  Mary  Morrison.  She's  a  Californian, 
and  very  charming,  I  understand." 

"She's  to  attend  the  University?" 

"I  don't  quite  know  as  to  that,"  admitted 
Honora,  frowning  slightly.  "Her  father  and  mother 
have  been  dead  for  several  years,  and  she  has  been 
living  with  her  brother  in  Santa  Barbara.  But  he  is 
to  go  to  the  Philippines  on  some  legal  work,  and  he 's 
taking  his  family  with  him.  Mary  begs  to  stay  here 
with  me  during  his  absence." 

"Is  she  the  sort  of  a  person  who  will  need  a 
chaperon?  Because  I  don't  seem  to  see  you  in  that 
capacity,  Honora." 

"  No,  I  don't  know  that  I  should  care  to  sit  against 
the  wall  smiling  complacently  while  other  people 
were  up  and  doing.  I  Ve  always  felt  I  would  n't 
mind  being  a  chaperon  if  they  'd  let  me  set  up  some 
sort  of  a  workshop  in  the  ballroom,  or  even  if  I 
could  take  my  mending,  or  a  book  to  read.  But 
slow,  long  hours  of  vacuous  smiling  certainly  would 
wear  me  out.  However,  I  don't  imagine  that  Mary 
will  call  upon  me  for  any  such  service." 

"But  if  your  cousin  isn't  going  to  college,  and 
64 


THE  PRECIPICE 

does  n't  intend  to  go  into  society,  how  will  she  amuse 
herself?" 

"  I  have  n't  an  idea  —  not  an  idea.  But  I  could  n't 
say  no  to  her,  could  I  ?  I  Ve  so  few  people  belonging 
to  me  in  this  world  that  I  can't,  for  merely  selfish 
reasons,  bear  to  turn  one  of  my  blood  away.  Mary's 
mother  and  my  mother  were  sisters,  and  I  think  we 
should  be  fond  of  each  other.  Of  course  she  is 
younger  than  I,  but  that  is  immaterial." 

"And  David  —  does  he  like  the  idea?  She  may 
be  rather  a  fixture,  may  n't  she?  Have  n't  you  to 
think  about  that?" 

"Oh,  David  probably  won't  notice  her  particu 
larly.  People  come  and  go  and  it's  all  the  same  to 
him.  He  sees  only  his  great  problems."  Honora 
choked  a  sigh. 

"Who  wants  him  to  do  anything  else!"  defended 
Kate  quickly.  "Not  you,  surely!  Why,  you're  so 
proud  of  him  that  you  're  positively  offensive !  And 
to  think  that  you  are  working  beside  him  every  day, 
and  helping  him  —  you  know  it 's  all  just  the  way 
you  would  have  it,  Honora." 

"Yes,  it  is,"  agreed  Honora  contritely,  "and  you 
should  see  him  in  the  laboratory  when  we  two  are 
alone  there,  Kate!  He's  a  changed  man.  It  almost 
seems  as  if  he  grew  in  stature.  When  he  bends  over 
those  tanks  where  he  is  making  his  great  experi 
ments,  all  of  my  scientific  training  fails  to  keep  me 
from  seeing  him  as  one  with  supernatural  powers. 
And  that  wonderful  idea  of  his,  the  finding  out  of  the 

65 


THE   PRECIPICE 

secret  of  life,  the  prying  into  this  last  hidden  place 
of  Nature,  almost  overwhelms  me.  I  can  work  at  it 
with  a  matter-of-fact  countenance,  but  when  we  be 
gin  to  approach  the  results,  I  almost  shudder  away 
from  it.  But  you  must  never  let  David  know  I  said 
so.  That's  only  my  foolish,  feminine,  reverent  mind. 
All  the  trained  and  scientific  part  of  me  repudiates 
such  nonsense." 

They  turned  in  at  the  door  of  the  Caravan 
sary. 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  you  repudiating  any  part  of 
yourself,"  cried  Kate  with  sudden  ardor.  "It's  so 
sweet  of  you,  Honora,  to  be  a  mere  woman  in  spite 
of  all  your  learning  and  your  power." 

Honora  stopped  and  grasped  Kate's  wrist  in  her 
strong  hand. 

"But  am  I  that?"  she  queried,  searching  her 
friend's  face  with  her  intense  gaze.  "You  see,  I've 
tried  — I've  tried—" 

She  choked  on  the  words. 

"I've  tried  not  to  be  a  woman!"  she  declared, 
drawing  her  breath  sharply  between  her  teeth.  "  It 's 
a  strange,  strange  story,  Kate." 

"I  don't  understand  at  all,"  Kate  declared. 

"I've  tried  not  to  be  a  woman  because  David  is 
so  completely  and  triumphantly  a  man." 

"Still  I  don't  understand." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not.  It's  a  hidden  history.  Some 
times  I  can't  believe  it  myself.   But  let  me  ask  you, 
am  I  the  woman  you  thought  I  would  be?" 

66 


THE   PRECIPICE 

Kate  smiled  slowly,  as  her  vision  of  Honora  as  she 
first  saw  her  came  back  to  her. 

"How  soft  and  rosy  you  were!"  she  cried.  "I 
believe  I  actually  began  my  acquaintance  with  you 
by  hugging  you.  At  any  rate,  I  wanted  to.  No,  no; 
I  never  should  have  thought  of  you  in  a  scientific 
career,  wearing  Moshier  gowns  and  having  curtain- 
less  windows.  Never!" 

Honora  stood  a  moment  there  in  the  dim  hall, 
thinking.  In  her  eyes  brooded  a  curiously  patient 
light. 

"Do  you  remember  all  the  trumpery  I  used  to 
have  on  my  toilet- table?"  she  demanded.  "I  sent 
it  to  Mary  Morrison.  They  say  she  looks  like  me." 

She  put  her  hand  on  the  dining-room  door  and 
they  entered.  The  others  were  there  before  them. 
There  were  growing  primroses  on  the  table,  and  the 
sunlight  streamed  in  at  the  window.  A  fire  crackled 
on  the  hearth;  and  Mrs.  Dennison,  in  her  old-fash 
ioned  widow's  cap,  sat  smiling  at  the  head  of  her  table. 

Kate  knew  it  was  not  really  home,  but  she  had  to 
admit  that  these  busy  undomestic  moderns  had 
found  a  good  substitute  for  it:  or,  at  least,  that,  tak 
ing  their  domesticity  through  the  mediumship  of 
Mrs.  Dennison,  they  contrived  to  absorb  enough  of 
it  to  keep  them  going.  But,  no,  it  was  not  really 
home.  Kate  could  not  feel  that  she,  personally,  ever 
had  been  "home."  She  thought  of  that  song  of 
songs,  "The  Wanderer." 

"Where  art  thou?  Where  art  thou,  O  home  so  dear  ?  " 
6? 


She  was  thinking  of  this  still  as,  her  salutation 
over,  she  seated  herself  in  the  chair  Dr.  von  Shier- 
brand  placed  for  her. 

"Busy  thinking  this  morning,  Miss  Barrington?" 
Mrs.  Dennison  asked  gently.  "That  tells  me  you  're 
meaning  to  do  some  good  thing  to-day.  I  can't  say 
how  splendid  you  social  workers  seem  to  us  com 
mon  folks." 

"Oh,  my  dear  Mrs.  Dennison!"  Kate  protested. 
"You  and  your  kind  are  the  true  social  workers.  If 
only  women  —  all  women  —  understood  how  to 
make  true  homes,  there  would  n't  be  any  need  for 
people  like  us.  We're  only  well-intentioned  fools 
who  go  around  putting  plasters  over  the  sores.  We 
don't  even  reach  down  as  far  as  the  disease  — 
though  I  suppose  we  think  we  do  when  we  get  a  lot 
of  statistics  together.  But  the  men  and  women  who 
go  about  their  business,  doing  their  work  well  all  of 
the  time,  are  the  preventers  of  social  trouble.  Is  n't 
that  so,  Dr.  von  Shierbrand?" 

That  amiable  German  readjusted  his  glasses  upon 
his  handsome  nose  and  began  to  talk  about  the 
Second  Part  of  "Faust."  The  provocation,  though 
slight,  had  seemed  to  him  sufficient. 

"My  husband  has  already  eaten  and  gone!"  ob 
served  Honora  with  some  chagrin.  "Can't  you  use 
your  influence,  Mrs.  Dennison,  to  make  him  spend 
a  proper  amount  of  time  at  the  table  ?" 

"Oh,  he  doesn't  need  to  eat  except  once  in  a 
great  while.  He  has  the  ways  of  genius,  Mrs.  Fulham. 

68 


THE   PRECIPICE 

Geniuses  like  to  eat  at  odd  times,  and  my  own  feel 
ing  is  that  they  should  be  allowed  to  do  as  they 
please.  It  is  very  bad  for  geniuses  to  make  them 
follow  a  set  plan,"  said  Mrs.  Dennison  earnestly. 

"That  woman,"  observed  Dr.  von  Shierbrand 
under  his  breath  to  Kate,  "has  the  true  feminine 
wisdom.  She  should  have  been  the  wife  of  a  great 
man.  It  was  such  qualities  which  Goethe  meant  to 
indicate  in  his  Marguerite." 

Honora,  who  had  overheard,  lifted  her  pensive 
gray  eyes  and  interchanged  a  long  look  with  Dr. 
von  Shierbrand.  Each  seemed  to  be  upon  the  verge 
of  some  remark. 

"Well,"  said  Kate  briskly,  "if  you  want  to  speak, 
why  don't  you?  Are  your  thoughts  too  deep  for 
words?" 

Von  Shierbrand  achieved  a  laugh,  but  Honora 
was  silent.  She  seemed  to  want  to  say  that  there 
was  more  than  one  variety  of  feminine  wisdom; 
while  Von  Shierbrand,  Kate  felt  quite  sure,  would 
have  maintained  that  there  was  but  one  —  the  in 
stinctive  sort  which  "Marguerite  knew." 

The  day  that  Mary  Morrison  was  to  arrive  con 
flicted  with  the  visit  of  a  very  great  Frenchman  to 
Professor  Fulham's  laboratory. 

"I  really  don't  see  how  I'm  to  meet  the  child, 
Kate,"  Honora  said  anxiously  to  her  friend.  "Do 
you  think  you  could  manage  to  get  down  to  the 
station?" 

69 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Kate  could  and  did  go.  This  girl,  like  herself,  was 
very  much  on  her  own  resources,  she  imagined.  She 
was  coming,  as  Kate  had  come  only  the  other  day, 
to  a  new  and  forbidding  city,  and  Kate's  heart 
warmed  to  her.  It  seemed  rather  a  tragedy,  at  best, 
to  leave  the  bland  Calif ornian  skies  and  to  readjust 
life  amid  the  iron  compulsion  of  Chicago.  Kate  pic 
tured  her  as  a  little  thing,  depressed,  weary  with  her 
long  journey,  and  already  homesick. 

The  reality  was  therefore  somewhat  of  a  surprise. 
As  Kate  stood  waiting  by  the  iron  gate  watching  the 
outflowing  stream  of  people  with  anxious  eyes,  she 
saw  a  little  furore  centered  about  the  person  of  an 
opulent  young  woman  who  had,  it  appeared,  many 
elaborate  farewells  to  make  to  her  fellow-passengers. 
Two  porters  accompanied  her,  carrying  her  smart 
bags,  and,  even  with  so  much  assistance,  she  was 
draped  with  extra  garments,  which  hung  from  her 
arms  in  varying  and  seductive  shades  of  green.  She 
herself  was  in  green  of  a  subtle  olive  shade,  and 
her  plumes  and  boa,  her  chains  and  chatelaine,  her 
hand-bags  and  camera,  marked  her  as  the  traveler 
triumphant  and  expectant.  Like  an  Arabian  prin 
cess,  borne  across  the  desert  to  the  home  of  her  fu 
ture  lord,  she  came  panoplied  with  splendor.  The 
consciousness  of  being  a  personage,  by  the  mere 
right  conferred  by  regal  womanhood-in-flowei 
emanated  from  her.  And  the  world  accepted  her 
smilingly  at  her  own  estimate.  She  wished  to  play 
at  being  queen.  What  more  simple?  Let  her  have 

70 


THE  PRECIPICE 

her  game.  On  every  hand  she  found  those  who 
were  —  or  who  delightedly  pretended  to  be  —  her 
subjects. 

Once  beyond  the  gateway,  this  exuberant  crea 
ture  paused.  "And  now,"  she  said  to  a  gentlemac 
more  assiduous  than  the  rest,  who  waited  upon  her 
and  who  was  laden  with  her  paraphernalia,  "you 
must  help  me  to  identify  my  cousin.  That  will  be  easy 
enough,  too,  for  they  say  we  resemble  each  other." 

That  gave  Kate  her  cue.  She  went  forward  with 
outstretched  hand. 

"I  am  your  cousin's  emissary,  Miss  Morrison," 
she  said.  "I  am  Kate  Barrington,  and  I  came  to 
greet  you  because  your  cousin  was  unable  to  get 
here,  and  is  very,  very  sorry  about  it." 

Miss  Morrison  revealed  two  deep  dimples  when 
she  smiled,  and  held  out  so  much  of  a  hand  as  she 
could  disengage  from  her  draperies.  She  presented 
her  fellow- traveler;  she  sent  a  porter  for  a  taxi.  All 
was  exhilaratingly  in  commotion  about  her;  and 
Kate  found  herself  apportioning  the  camera  and 
some  of  the  other  things  to  herself. 

They  had  quite  a  royal  setting-forth.  Every  one 
helped  who  could  find  any  excuse  for  doing  so ;  others 
looked  on.  Miss  Morrison  nodded  and  smiled;  the 
chauffeur  wheeled  his  machine  splendidly,  making 
dramatic  gestures  which  had  the  'effect  of  causing 
commerce  to  pause  till  the  princess  was  under  way. 

"Be  sure,"  warned  Miss  Morrison,  "to  drive 
through  the  pleasantest  streets." 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Then  she  turned  to  Kate  with  a  deliciously  re- 
"proachful  expression  on  her  face. 

"Why  did  n't  you  order  blue  skies  for  me?"  she 
demanded. 

Kate  never  forgot  the  expression  of  Miss  Morri 
son's  face  when  she  was  ushered  into  Honora's  "sani 
tary  drawing-room,"  as  Dr.  von  Shierbrand  had 
dubbed  it.  True,  the  towers  of  Harper  Memorial 
Library  showed  across  the  Plaisance  through  the  un- 
draped  windows,  mitigating  the  gravity  of  the  out 
look,  and  the  innumerable  lights  of  the  Midway 
already  began  to  render  less  austere  the  January  twi 
light.  But  the  brown  walls,  the  brown  rug,  the  Mis 
sion  furniture  in  weathered  oak,  the  corner  clock,  — 
an  excellent  time-piece,  —  the  fireplace  with  its 
bronze  vases,  the  etchings  of  foreign  architecture, 
and  the  bookcase  with  Ruskin,  Eliot,  Dickens,  and 
all  the  Mid- Victorian  celebrities  in  sets,  produced 
but  a  grave  and  unillumined  interior. 

"Oh!"  cried  Miss  Morrison  with  ill-concealed 
dismay.  And  then,  after  a  silence:  "But  where  do 
you  sit  when  you're  sociable?" 

"Here,"  said  Kate.  She  wasn't  going  to  apolo 
gize  for  Honora  to  a  pair  of  exclamatory  dimples ! 

"But  you  can  be  intimate  here?"  Miss  Morrison 
inquired. 

"We're  not  intimate,"  flashed  Kate.  "We're  too 
busy  —  and  we  respect  each  other  too  much." 

Miss  Morrison  sank  into  a  chair  and  revealed  the 

72 


THE  PRECIPICE 

tint  of  her  lettuce-green  petticoat  beneath  her  olive- 
green  frock. 

" I'm  making  you  cross  with  me,"  she  said  regret 
fully.  "  Please  don't  dislike  me  at  the  outset.  You 
see,  out  in  California  we're  not  so  up  and  down  as 
you  are  here.  If  you  were  used  to  spending  your 
days  in  the  shade  of  yellow  walls,  with  your  choice 
of  hammocks,  and  with  nothing  to  do  but  feed  the 
parrot  and  play  the  piano,  why,  I  guess  you  'd  — " 

She  broke  off  and  stared  about  her. 

"Why,  there  isn't  any  piano!"  she  cried.  "Do 
you  mean  Honora  has  no  piano?" 

"What  would  be  the  use?  She  does  n't  play." 

"I  must  order  one  in  the  morning,  then.  Honora 
would  n't  care,  would  she?  Oh,  when  do  you  sup 
pose  she'll  be  home?  Does  she  like  to  stay  over  in 
that  queer  place  you  told  me  of,  fussing  around  with 
those  frogs?" 

Kate  had  been  rash  enough  to  endeavor  to  ex 
plain  something  of  the  Fulhams'  theories  regarding 
the  mechanistic  conception  of  life.  There  was  no 
thing  to  do  but  accord  Miss  Morrison  the  laugh 
which  she  appeared  to  think  was  coming  to  her. 

"I  can  see  that  I  should  n't  have  told  you  about 
anything  like  that,"  Kate  said.  "I  see  how  mussy 
you  would  think  any  scientific  experiment  to  be. 
And,  really,  matters  of  greater  importance  engage 
your  attention." 

She  was  quite  serious.  She  had  swiftly  made  up 
her  mind  that  Mary  Morrison,  with  her  conscious 

73 


THE   PRECIPICE 

seductions,  was  a  much  more  important  factor  in  the 
race  than- austere  Honora  Fulham.  But  Miss  Mor 
rison  was  suspicious  of  satire. 

"Oh,  I  think  science  important!"  she  protested. 

"No,  you  don't,"  declared  Kate;  "you  only  wish 
you  did.  Come,  we  '11  go  to  your  room." 

It  was  the  rear  room  on  the  second  floor,  and  it 
presented  a  stern  parallelogram  occupied  by  the 
bare  necessaries  of  a  sleeping-apartment.  The  walls 
and  rug  were  gray,  the  furniture  of  mahogany. 
Mary  Morrison  looked  at  it  a  moment  with  a  slow 
smile.  Then  she  tossed  her  green  coat  and  her  hat 
with  its  sweeping  veil  upon  the  bed.  She  flung  her 
camera  and  her  magazines  upon  the  table.  She 
opened  her  traveling-bag,  and,  with  hands  that  al 
most  quivered  with  impatience,  placed  upon  the 
toilet-table  the  silver  implements  that  Honora  had 
sent  her  and  scattered  broadcast  among  them  her 
necklaces  and  bracelets. 

"I  '11  have  some  flowering  plants  to-morrow,"  she 
told  Kate.  "And  when  my  trunks  and  boxes  come, 
I'll  make  the  wilderness  blossom  like  a  rose.  How 
have  you  decorated  your  room?" 

"I  haven't  much  money,"  said  Kate  bluntly; 
"but  I've  —  well,  I've  ventured  on  my  own  inter 
pretations  of  what  a  bed-sitting-room  should  be." 

Miss  Morrison  threw  her  a  bright  glance. 

"I'll  warrant  you  have,"  she  said.  "I  should 
think  you  'd  contrive  a  very  original  sort  of  a  place. 
Thank  you  so  much  for  looking  after  me.  I  brought 

74 


THE  PRECIPICE 

along  a  gown  for  dinner.  Naturally,  I  did  n't  want 
to  make  a  dull  impression  at  the  outset.  Have  n't 
I  heard  that  you  dine  out  at  some  sort  of  a  place 
where  geniuses  congregate?" 

Years  afterward,  Kate  used  to  think  about  the 
moment  when  Honora  and  her  cousin  met.  Honora 
had  come  home,  breathless  from  the  laboratory.  It 
had  been  a  stirring  afternoon  for  her.  She  had  heard 
words  of  significant  appreciation  spoken  to  David  by 
the  men  whom,  out  of  all  the  world,  she  would  have 
chosen  to  have  praise  him.  She  looked  at  Miss  Mor 
rison,  who  had  come  trailing  down  in  a  cerise  even 
ing  gown  as  if  she  were  a  bright  creature  of  another 
species,  somewhat,  Kate  could  not  help  whimsically 
thinking,  as  a  philosophic  beaver  might  have  looked 
at  a  bird  of  paradise.  Then  Honora  had  kissed  her 
cousin. 

"Dear  blue-eyed  Mary!"  she  had  cried.  "Wel 
come  to  a  dull  and  busy  home." 

"How  good  of  you  to  take  me  in,"  sighed  Miss 
Morrison.  "I  hated  to  bother  you,  Honora,  but  I 
thought  you  might  keep  me  out  of  mischief." 

"Have  you  been  getting  into  mischief?"  Honora 
asked,  still  laughing. 

"Not  quite,"  answered  her  cousin,  blushing  be- 
witchingly.  "  But  I  'm  always  on  the  verge  of  it.  It 's 
the  Calif ornian  climate,  I  think." 

"So  exuberant!"  cried  Honora. 

"That's  it!"  agreed  "Blue-eyed  Mary."  "I 
75 


THE  PRECIPICE 

thought  you  'd  understand.  Here,  I  'm  sure,  you  're 
all  busy  and  good." 

"Some  of  us  are,"  agreed  Honora.  "There's  my 
Kate,  for  example.  She's  one  of  the  most  useful 
persons  in  town,  and  she's  just  as  interesting  as  she 
is  useful." 

Miss  Morrison  turned  her  smiling  regard  on  Kate. 
"But,  Honora,  she's  been  quite  abrupt  with  me. 
She  does  n't  approve  of  me.  I  suppose  she  dis 
covered  at  once  that  I  was  n't  useful." 

"I  did  n't,"  protested  Kate.  "I  think  decorative 
things  are  of  the  utmost  use." 

"There!"  cried  Miss  Morrison;  "you  can  see  for 
yourself  that  she  does  n't  like  me!" 

"Nonsense,"  said  Kate,  really  irritated.  "I  shall 
like  you  if  Honora  does.  Let  me  help  you  dress, 
Honora  dear.  Are  you  tired  or  happy  that  your 
cheeks  are  so  flushed?" 

"I'm  both  tired  and  happy,  Kate.  Excuse  me, 
Mary,  won't  you?  If  David  comes  in  you'll  know 
him  by  instinct.  Believe  me,  you  are  very  wel 
come." 

Up  in  Honora's  bedroom,  Kate  asked,  as  she 
helped  her  friend  into  the  tidy  neutral  silk  she  wore 
to  dinner:  "  Is  the  blue-eyed  one  going  to  be  a  drain 
on  you,  girl?  You  ought  n't  to  carry  any  more  bur 
dens.  Are  you  disturbed?  Is  she  more  of  a  proposi 
tion  than  you  counted  on?" 

Honora  turned  her  kind  but  troubled  eyes  on 
Kate.' 

76 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"I  can't  explain,"  she  said  in  so  low  a  voice  that 
Kate  could  hardly  catch  the  words.  "She's  like  me, 
is  n't  she?  I  seemed  to  see — " 

"What?" 

"Ghosts  —  bright  ghosts.   Never  mind." 

"You're  not  thinking  that  you  are  old,  are  you?" 
cried  Kate.  "Because  that's  absurd.  You're  won 
derful  —  wonderful." 

Laughter  arose  to  them  —  the  mingled  voices  of 
David  Fulham  and  his  newfound  cousin  by  marriage. 

" Good ! "  cried  Honora  with  evident  relief.  "They 
seem  to  be  taking  to  each  other.  I  did  n't  know  how 
David  would  like  her." 

He  liked  her  very  well,  it  transpired,  and  when 
the  introductions  had  been  made  at  the  Caravan 
sary,  it  appeared  that  every  one  was  delighted  with 
her.  If  their  reception  of  her  differed  from  that  they 
had  given  to  Kate,  it  was  nevertheless  kindly  —  al 
most  gay.  They  leaped  to  the  conclusion  that  Miss 
Morrison  was  designed  to  enliven  them.  And  so  it 
proved.  She  threw  even  the  blithe  Marna  Cartan 
temporarily  into  the  shade;  and  Dr.  von  Shierbrand, 
who  was  accustomed  to  talking  with  Kate  upon  such 
matters  as  the  national  trait  of  incompetence,  or  the 
reprehensible  modern  tendency  of  coddling  the  un 
fit,  turned  his  attention  to  Miss  Morrison  and  to 
lighter  subjects. 

Two  days  later  a  piano  stood  in  Honora's  drawing- 
room,  and  Miss  Morrison  sat  before  it  in  what  may 

77 


THE  PRECIPICE 

be  termed  occult  draperies,  making  lovely  music. 
Technically,  perhaps,  the  music  left  something  to  be 
desired.  Mrs.  Barsaloux  and  Marna  Cartan  thought 
so,  at  any  rate.  But  the  habitues  of  Mrs.  Denni- 
son's  near-home  soon  fell  into  the  way  of  trailing 
over  to  the  Fulhams'  in  Mary  Morrison's  wake,  and 
as  they  grouped  themselves  about  on  the  ugly  Mis 
sion  furniture,  in  a  soft  light  produced  by  many  can 
dles,  and  an  atmosphere  drugged  with  highly  scented 
flowers,  they  fell  under  the  spell  of  many  woven 
melodies. 

When  Mary  Morrison's  tapering  fingers  touched 
the  keys  they  brought  forth  a  liquid  and  caressing 
sound  like  falling  water  in  a  fountain,  and  when  she 
leaned  over  them  as  if  to  solicit  them  to  yield  their 
kind  responses,  her  attitude,  her  subtle  garments, 
the  swift  interrogative  turns  of  her  head,  brought 
visions  to  those  who  watched  and  listened.  Kate 
dreamed  of  Italian  gardens  —  the  gardens  she  never 
had  seen ;  Von  Shierbrand  thought  of  dark  German 
forests;  Honora,  of  a  moonlit  glade.  These  three 
confessed  so  much.  The  others  did  not  tell  their 
visions,  but  obviously  they  had  them.  Blue-eyed 
Mary  was  one  of  those  women  who  inspire  others. 
She  was  the  quintessence  of  femininity,  and  she  dis 
tilled  upon  the  air  something  delicately  intoxicat 
ing,  like  the  odor  of  lotus-blossoms. 

It  was  significant  that  the  Fulhams'  was  no  longer 
a  house  of  suburban  habits.  Ten  o'clock  and  lights 
out  had  ceased  to  be  the  rule.  After  music  there 

78. 


THE  PRECIPICE 

frequently  was  a  little  supper,  and  every  one  was 
pressed  into  service  in  the  preparation  of  it.  Some 
thing  a  trifle  fagged  and  hectic  began  to  show  in  the 
faces  of  Mrs.  Dennison's  family,  and  that  good  wo 
man  ventured  to  offer  some  reproof. 

"You  all  are  hard  workers,"  she  said,  "and  you 
ought  to  be  hard  resters,  too.  You're  not  acting 
sensibly.  Any  one  would  think  you  were  the  idle 
rich." 

"Well,  we're  entitled  to  all  the  pleasure  we  can 
get,"  Mary  Morrison  had  retorted.  "There  are  peo 
ple  who  think  that  pleasure  is  n't  for  them.  But  I 
am  just  the  other  way  —  I  take  it  for  granted  that 
pleasure  is  my  right.  I  always  take  everything  in 
the  way  of  happiness  that  I  can  get  my  hands  on." 

"You  mean,  of  course,  my  dear  child,"  said  the 
gentle  Mrs.  Goodrich,  "all  that  you  can  get  which 
does  not  belong  to  some  one  else." 

Blue-eyed  Mary  laughed  throatily. 

"  Fortunately,"  she  said,  "  there's  pleasure  enough 
to  go  around.  It's  like  air,  every  one  can  breathe 
it  in." 


VII 

BUT  though  Miss  Morrison  had  made  herself  so 
brightly,  so  almost  universally  at  home,  there  was 
one  place  into  which  she  did  not  venture  to  intrude. 
This  was  Kate's  room.  Mary  had  felt  from  the  first 
a  lack  of  encouragement  there,  and  although  she 
liked  to  talk  to  Kate,  and  received  answers  in  which 
there  appeared  to  be  no  lack  of  zest  and  response, 
yet  it  seemed  to  be  agreed  that  when  Miss  Barring- 
ton  came  tramping  home  from  her  hard  day's  work, 
she  was  to  enjoy  the  solitude  of  her  chamber. 

Mary  used  to  wonder  what  went  on  there.  Miss 
Barrington  could  be  very  still.  The  hours  would 
pass  and  not  a  sound  would  issue  from  that  high 
upper  room  which  looked  across  the  Midway  and  in 
cluded  the  satisfactory  sight  of  the  Harper  Memorial 
and  the  massed  University  buildings.  Kate  would, 
indeed,  have  had  difficulty  in  explaining  that  she 
was  engaged  in  the  mere  operation  of  living.  Her 
life,  though  lonely,  and  to  an  extent  undirected, 
seemed  abundant.  Restless  she  undoubtedly  was, 
but  it  was  a  restlessness  which  she  succeeded  in  hold 
ing  in  restraint.  At  first  when  she  came  up  to  the 
city  the  daze  of  sorrow  was  upon  her.  But  this  was 
passing.  A  keen  awareness  of  life  suffused  her  now 
and  made  her  observant  of  everything  about  her. 
She  feJt  the  .tremendous  incongruities  of  city  life,  and 

80 


THE  PRECIPICE 

back  of  these  incongruities,  the  great,  hidden,  pas 
sionate  purpose  which,  ultimately,  meant  a  city  of 
immeasurable  power.  She  rejoiced,  as  the  young 
and  gallant  dare  to  do,  that  she  was  laboring  in  be 
half  of  that  city.  Not  one  bewildered,  wavering,  pit 
eous  life  was  adjusted  through  her  efforts  that  she 
did  not  feel  that  her  personal  sum  of  happiness  had 
received  an  addition.  That  deep  and  burning  need 
for  religion,  or  for  love,  or  for  some  splendid  and  ir 
resistible  impetus,  was  satisfied  in  part  by  her  pre 
sent  work. 

To  start  out  each  morning  to  answer  the  cry  of 
distress,  to  understand  the  intricate  yet  effective 
machinery  of  benevolent  organizations,  so  that  she 
could  call  for  aid  here  and  there,  and  have  instant 
and  intelligent  cooperation,  to  see  broken  lives 
mended,  the  friendless  befriended,  the  tempted 
lifted  up,  the  evil-doer  set  on  safe  paths,  warmed  and 
sustained  her.  That  inquisitive  nature  of  hers  was 
now  so  occupied  with  the  answering  of  practical  and 
immediate  questions  that  it  had  ceased  to  beat  upon 
the  hollow  doors  of  the  Unknown  with  unavailing 
inquiries. 

So  far  a&  her  own  life  was  concerned,  she  seemed 
to  have  found,  not  a  haven,  but  a  broad  sea  upon 
which  she  could  triumphantly  sail.  That  shame  at 
being  merely  a  woman,  with  no  task,  no  utility,  no 
independence,  had  been  lifted  from  her.  So,  in  grati 
tude,  everywhere,  at  all  times,  she  essayed  to  help 
other  women  to  a  similar  independence.  She  did  not 

81 


THE  PRECIPICE 

go  so  far  as  to  say  that  it  was  the  panacea  for  all  ills, 
but  she  was  convinced  that  more  than  half  of  the  in-* 
coherent  pain  of  women's  lives  could  be  avoided  by\ 
the  mere  fact  of  financial  independence.  It  became* 
a  religion  with  her  to  help  the  women  with  whom 
she  came  in  contact,  to  find  some  unguessed  ability 
or  applicability  which  would  enable  them  to  put 
money  in  their  purses.  With  liberty  to  leave  a  mis 
erable  condition,  one  often  summoned  courage  to 
remain  and  face  it.  She  pointed  that  out  to  her  wist 
ful  constituents,  the  poor  little  wives  who  had  found 
in  marriage  only  a  state  of  supine  drudgery,  and  of 
unexpectant,  monotonous  days.  She  was  trying  to 
give  them  some  game  to  play.  That  was  the  way 
she  put  it  to  them.  If  one  had  a  game  to  play,  there 
was  use  in  living.  If  one  had  only  to  run  after  the 
balls  of  the  players,  there  was  not  zest  enough  to 
carry  one  along. 

She  began  talking  now  and  then  at  women's  clubs 
and  at  meetings  of  welfare  workers.  Her  abrupt, 
picturesque  way  of  saying  things  "carried,"  as  an 
actor  would  put  it.  Her  sweet,  clear  contralto  held 
the  ear;  her  aquiline  comeliness  pleased  the  eye  with 
out  enticing  it;  her  capable,  fit-looking  clothes  were 
so  happily  secondary  to  her  personality  that  even 
the  women  could  not  tell  how  she  was  dressed.  She 
was  the  least  seductive  person  imaginable;  and  she 
looked  so  self-sufficient  that  it  seldom  occurred  to 
any  one  to  offer  her  help.  Yet  she  was  in  no  sense 
bold  or  aggressive.  No  one  ever  thought  of  accusing 

82 


THE  PRECIPICE 

her  of  being  any  of  those  things.  Many  loved  her  — 
loved  her  wholesomely,  with  a  love  in  which  trust 
was  a  large  element.  Children  loved  her,  and  the 
sick,  and  the  bad.  They  looked  to  her  to  help  them 
out  of  their  helplessness.  She  was  very  young,  but, 
after  all,  she  was  maternal.  A  psychologist  would 
have  said  that  there  was  much  of  the  man  about  her, 
and  her  love  of  the  fair  chance,  her  appetite  for  free 
dom,  her  passion  for  using  her  own  capabilities 
might,  indeed,  have  seemed  to  be  of  the  masculine 
variety  of  qualities;  but  all  this  was  more  than  off 
set  by  this  inherent  impulse  for  maternity.  She  was 
born,  apparently,  to  care  for  others,  but  she  had  to 
serve  them  freely.  She  had  to  be  the  dispenser  of 
good.  She  was  unconsciously  on  the  outlook  against 
those  innumerable  forms  of  slavishness  which  affec 
tion  or  religion  gilded  and  made  to  seem  like  noble 
service. 

Among  those  who  loved  her  was  August  von 
Shierbrand.  He  loved  her  apparently  in  spite  of 
himself.  She  did  not  in  the  least  accord  with  his 
romantic  ideas  of  what  a  woman  should  be.  He 
was  something  of  a  poet,  and  a  specialized  judge  of 
poetry,  and  he  liked  women  of  the  sort  who  in 
spired  a  man  to  write  lyrics.  He  had  tried  unavail- 
ingly  to  write  lyrics  about  Kate,  but  they  never 
would  "go."  He  confessed  his  fiascoes  to  her. 

"Nothing  short  of  martial  measures  seems  to  suit 
you,"  he  said  laughingly. 

"But  why  write  about  me  at  all,  Dr.  von  Shier- 

83 


THE  PRECIPICE 

brand?"  she  inquired.  "  I  don't  want  any  one  writ 
ing  about  me.  What  I  want  to  do  is  to  learn  how  to 
write  myself  —  not  because  I  feel  impelled  to  be  an 
author,  but  because  I  come  across  things  almost 
every  day  which  ought  to  be  explained." 

"You  are  completely  absorbed  in  this  extraordi 
nary  life  of  yours!"  he  complained. 

"Why  not!"  demanded  Kate.  "Are  n't  you  com 
pletely  absorbed  in  your  life?" 

"Of  course  I  am.  But  teaching  is  my  chosen  pro 
fession." 

"Well,  life  is  my  chosen  profession.  I  want  to  see, 
feel,  know,  breathe,  Life.  I  thought  I'd  never  be 
able  to  get  at  it.  I  used  to  feel  like  a  person  walking 
in  a  mist.  But  it's  different  now.  Everything  has 
taken  on  a  clear  reality  to  me.  I  'm  even  beginning 
to  understand  that  I  myself  am  a  reality  and  that 
my  thoughts  as  well  as  my  acts  are  entities.  I'm 
getting  so  that  I  can  define  my  own  opinions.  I 
don't  believe  there's  anybody  in  the  city  who  would 
so  violently  object  to  dying  as  I  would,  Dr.  von 
Shierbrand." 

The  sabre  cut  on  Von  Shierbrand's  face  gleamed. 

"  You  certainly  seem  at  the  antipodes  of  death, 
Miss  Barrington,"  he  said  with  a  certain  thickness 
in  his  utterance.  "And  I,  personally,  can  think  of 
nothing  more  exhilarating  than  in  living  beside  you. 
I  meant  to  wait  —  to  wait  a  long  time  before 
asking  you.  But  what  is  the  use  of  waiting?  I  want 
you  to  marry  me.  I  feel  as  if  it  must  be  —  as  if  I 

84 


THE  PRECIPICE 

could  n't  get  along  without  you  to  help  me  enjoy 
things." 

Kate  looked  at  him  wonderingly.  It  was  before 
the  afternoon  concert  and  they  were  sitting  in 
Honora's  rejuvenated  drawing-room  while  they 
waited  for  the  others  to  come  downstairs. 

"But,  Dr.  von  Shierbrand!"  she  cried,  "I  don't 
like  a  city  without  suburbs!" 

"I  beg  your  pardon!" 

"I  like  to  see  signs  of  my  City  of  Happiness  as  I 
approach  —  outlying  villas,  and  gardens,  and  then 
straggling,  pleasant  neighborhoods,  and  finally 
Town." 

"Oh,  I  see.  You  mean  I've  been  too  unexpected. 
Can't  you  overlook  that?  You  're  an  abrupt  person 
yourself,  you  know.  I  'm  persuaded  that  we  could 
be  happy  together." 

"But  I'm  not  in  love,  Dr.  von  Shierbrand.  I'm 
sorry.  Frankly,  I  'd  like  to  be." 

"And  have  you  never  been?  Are  n't  you  nursing 
a  dream  of — " 

"No,  no;  I  have  n't  had  a  hopeless  love  if  that's 
what  you  mean.  I'm  all  lucid  and  clear  and  com 
fortable  nowadays  —  partly  because  I  've  stopped 
thinking  about  some  of  the  things  to  which  I  could  n't 
find  answers,  and  partly  because  Life  is  answering 
some  of  my  questions." 

"How  to  be  happy  without  being  in  love,  per 
haps." 

"Well,  I  am  happy  —  temperately  so.  Perhaps 

85 


THE  PRECIPICE 

that 's  the  only  degree  of  happiness  I  shall  ever  know. 
Of  course,  when  I  was  younger  I  thought  I  should 
get  to  some  sort  of  a  place  where  I  could  stand  in 
swimming  glory  and  rejoice  forever,  but  I  see  now 
how  stupid  I  was  to  think  anything  of  the  sort.  I 
hoped  to  escape  the  commonplace  by  reaching  some 
beatitude,  but  now  I  have  found  that  nothing  really 
is  commonplace.  It  only  seems  so  when  you  are  n't 
understanding  enough  to  get  at  the  essential  truth 
of  things." 

"Oh,  that 's  true!  That 's  true! "  cried  Von  Shier- 
brand.  "Oh,  Kate,  I  do  love  you.  You  seem  to 
complete  me.  When  I'm  with  you  I  understand 
myself.  Please  try  to  love  me,  dear.  We'll  get  a 
little  home  and  have  a  garden  and  a  library  — 
think  how  restful  it  will  be.  I  can't  tell  you  how  I 
want  a  place  I  can  call  home." 

"There  they  come,"  warned  Kate  as  she  heard 
footsteps  on  the  stairs.  "You  must  take '  no '  for  your 
answer,  dear  man.  I  feel  just  like  a  mother  to  you." 

Dr.  von  Shierbrand  arose,  obviously  offended,  and 
he  allied  himself  with  Mary  Morrison  on  the  way  to 
the  concert.  Kate  walked  with  Honora  and  David 
until  they  met  with  Professor  Wickersham,  who  was 
also  bound  for  Mandel  Hall  and  the  somewhat  tem 
pered  classicism  which  the  Theodore  Thomas  Or 
chestra  offered  to  "the  University  crowd." 

"Please  walk  with  me,  Miss  Barrington,"  said 
Wickersham.  "I  want  you  to  explain  the  universe 
to  me." 

86 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"I  can  do  that  nicely,"  retorted  Kate,  "because 
Dr.  von  Shierbrand  has  already  explained  it  to  me." 

Blue-eyed  Mary  was  pouting.  She  never  liked 
any  variety  of  amusement,  conversational  or  other 
wise,  in  which  she  was  not  the  center. 

So  Kate's  life  sped  along.  It  was  not  very  signifi 
cant,  perhaps,  or  it  would  not  have  seemed  so  to 
the  casual  onlooker,  but  life  is  measured  by  its  in 
ward  rather  than  its  outward  processes,  and  Kate 
felt  herself  being  enriched  by  her  experiences. 

She  enjoyed  being  brought  into  contact  with  the 
people  she  met  in  her  work  —  not  alone  the  benefi 
ciaries  of  her  ministrations,  but  the  policemen  and 
the  police  matrons  and  the  judges  of  the  police 
court.  She  joined  a  society  of  "welfare  workers," 
and  attended  their  suppers  and  meetings,  and  tried 
to  learn  by  their  experience  and  to  keep  her  own 
ideas  in  abeyance. 

She  could  not  help  noticing  that  she  differed  in 
some  particulars  from  most  of  these  laborers  in  be 
half  of  the  unfortunate.  They  brought  practical, 
unimaginative,  and  direct  minds  to  bear  upon  the 
problems  before  them,  while  she  never  could  escape 
her  theories  or  deny  herself  the  pleasure  of  looking 
beyond  the  events  to  the  causes  which  underlay 
them.  This  led  her  to  jot  down  her  impressions  in  a 
notebook,  and  to  venture  on  comments  concerning 
her  experiences. 

Moreover,  not  only  was  she  deeply  moved  by  the 
87 


THE  PRECIPICE 

disarrangement  and  bewilderment  which  she  saw 
around  her,  but  she  began  to  awaken  to  certain 
great  events  and  developing  powers  in  the  world. 
She  read  the  sardonic  commentators  upon  modern 
life  —  Ibsen,  Strindberg,  and  many  others;  and  if 
she  sometimes  passionately  repudiated  them,  at 
other  times  she  listened  as  if  she  were  finding  the 
answers  to  her  own  inquiries.  It  moved  her  to  dis 
cover  that  men,  more  often  than  women,  had  been 
the  interpreters  of  women's  hidden  meanings,  and 
that  they  had  been  the  setters-forth  of  new  visions 
of  sacredness  and  fresh  definitions  of  liberty. 

It  was  these  men  —  these  aloof  and  unsentimen 
tal  ones  —  who  had  pointed  out  that  the  sin  of  sins 
committed  by  women  had  been  the  indifference  to 
their  own  personalities.  They  had  been  echoers, 
conformers,  imitators;  even,  in  their  own  way, 
cowards.  They  had  feared  the  conventions,  and 
had  been  held  in  thrall  by  their  own  carefully 
nursed  ideals  of  themselves.  They  had  lacked  the 
ability  to  utilize  their  powers  of  efficiency ;  had  paid 
but  feeble  respect  to  their  own  ideals ;  had  altogether 
measured  themselves  by  too  limited  a  standard. 
Failing  wifely  joy,  they  had  too  often  regarded 
themselves  as  unsuccessful,  and  had  apologized 
tacitly  to  the  world  for  using  their  abilities  in  any 
direction  save  one.  They  had  not  permitted  them 
selves  that  strong,  clean,  robust  joy  of  developing 
their  own  powers  for  mere  delight  in  the  exercise  of 
power. 

88 


THE  PRECIPICE 

But  now,  so  Kate  believed,  —  so  her  great  in 
structors  informed  her,  —  they  were  awakening  to 
their  privileges.  An  intenser  awareness  of  life,  of 
the  right  to  expression,  and  of  satisfaction  in  con 
structive  performances  was  stirring  in  them.  If 
they  desired  enfranchisement,  they  wanted  it 
chiefly  for  spiritual  reasons.  This  was  a  fact  which 
the  opponents  of  the  advancing  movement  did  not 
generally  recognize.  Kate  shrank  from  those  fruit 
less  arguments  at  the  Caravansary  with  the  excel 
lent  men  who  gravely  and  kindly  rejected  suffrage 
for  women  upon  the  ground  that  they  were  protect 
ing  them  by  doing  so.  They  did  not  seem  to  under 
stand  that  women  desired  the  ballot  because  it  was 
a  symbol  as  well  as  because  it  was  an  instrument  and 
an  argument.  If  it  was  to  benefit  the  working  woman 
in  the  same  way  in  which  it  benefited  the  working 
man,  by  making  individuality  a  thing  to  be  con 
sidered  ;  if  it  was  to  give  the  woman  taxpayer  certain 
rights  which  would  put  her  on  a  par  with  the  man 
taxpayer,  a  thousand  times  more  it  was  to  benefit 
all  women  by  removing  them  from  the  class  of  the 
unconsidered,  the  superfluous,  and  the  negligible. 

Yes,  women  were  wanting  the  ballot  because  it 
included  potentiality,  and  in  potentiality  is  happi 
ness.  No  field  seems  fair  if  there  is  no  gateway  to  it 
—  no  farther  field  toward  which  the  steps  may  be 
turned.  Kate  was  getting  hold  of  certain  signifi 
cant  similes.  She  saw  that  it  was  past  the  time  of 
walls  and  limits.  Walled  cities  were  no  longer  en- 

89 


THE  PRECIPICE 

durable,  and  walled  and  limited  possibilities  were 
equally  obsolete.  If  the  departure  of  the  "captains 
and  the  kings"  was  at  hand,  if  the  new  forces  of 
democracy  had  routed  them,  if  liberty  for  all  men  was 
now  an  ethic  need  of  civilization,  so  political  recog 
nition  was  necessary  for  women.  Women  required 
the  ballot  because  the  need  was  upon  them  to  per 
form  great  labors.  Their  unutilized  benevolence, 
their  disregarded  powers  of  organization,  their 
instinctive  sense  of  economy,  their  maternal- 
oversoul,  all  demanded  exercise.  Women  were  the 
possessors  of  certain  qualities  so  abundant,  so  ever- 
renewing,  that  the  ordinary  requirements  of  life  did 
not  give  them  adequate  employment.  With  a  divine 
instinct  of  high  selfishness,  of  compassion,  of  realiza 
tion,  they  were  seeking  the  opportunity  to  exercise 
these  powers. 

"The  restlessness  of  women,"  "the  unquiet  sex," 
were  terms  which  were  becoming  glorious  in  Kate's 
ears.  She  saw  no  reason  why  women  as  well  as  men 
should  not  be  allowed  to  "dance  upon  the  floor  of 
chance."  All  about  her  were  women  working  for  the 
advancement  of  their  city,  their  country,  and  their 
race.  They  gave  of  their  fortunes,  of  their  time,  of 
all  the  powers  of  their  spirit.  They  warred  with 
political  machines,  with  base  politicians,  with  pub 
lic  contumely,  with  custom.  What  would  have 
crushed  women  of  equally  gentle  birth  a  genera 
tion  before,  seemed  now  of  little  account  to  these 
workers.  They  looked  beyond  and  above  the  irri- 

90 


THE  PRECIPICE 

tation  of  the  moment,  holding  to  the  realization 
that  their  labors  were  of  vital  worth.  Under  their 
administration  communities  passed  from  shameless 
misery  to  self-respect;  as  the  result  of  their  gener 
osity,  courts  were  sustained  in  which  little  children 
could  make  their  plea  and  wretched  wives  could 
have  justice.  Servants,  wantons,  outcasts,  the  in 
sane,  the  morally  ill,  all  were  given  consideration  in 
this  new  religion  of  compassion.  It  was  amazing  to 
Kate  to  see  light  come  to  dull  eyes  —  eyes  which 
had  hitherto  been  lit  only  with  the  fires  of  hate.  As 
she  walked  the  gray  streets  in  the  performance  of 
her  tasks,  weary  and  bewildered  though  she  often 
was,  she  was  sustained  by  the  new  discovery  of  that 
ancient  truth  that  nothing  human  can  be  foreign  to 
the  person  of  good  will.  Neither  dirt  nor  hate,  dis 
trust,  fear,  nor  deceit  should  be  permitted  to  blind  her 
to  the  essential  similarity  of  all  who  were  "bound 
together  in  the  bundle  of  life." 

It  was  not  surprising  that  at  this  time  she  should 
begin  writing  short  articles  for  the  women's  maga 
zines  on  the  subjects  which  presented  themselves  to 
her  in  her  daily  work.  Her  brief,  spontaneous, 
friendly  articles,  full  of  meat  and  free  from  the  taint 
of  bookishness,  won  favor  from  the  first.  She  soon 
found  her  evenings  occupied  with  her  somewhat 
matter-of-fact  literary  labors.  But  this  work  was  of 
such  a  different  character  from  that  which  occupied 
her  in  the  daytime  that  so  far  from  fatiguing  her  it 
gave  an  added  zest  to  her  days. 


THE  PRECIPICE 

She  was  not  fond  of  idle  evenings.  Sitting  alone 
meant  thinking,  and  thought  meant  an  unconquer 
able  homesickness  for  that  lonely  man  back  in  Silver-  * 
tree  from  whom  she  had  parted  peremptorily,  and 
toward  whom  she  dared  not  make  any  overtures. 
Sometimes  she  sent  him  an  article  clipped  from  the 
magazines  or  newspapers  dealing  with  some  scien 
tific  subject,  and  once  she  mailed  him  a  number  of 
little  photographs  which  she  had  taken  with  her 
own  camera  and  which  might  reveal  to  him,  if  he 
were  inclined  to  follow  their  suggestions,  something 
of  the  life  in  which  she  was  engaged.  But  no  recog 
nition  of  these  wordless  messages  came  from  him. 
He  had  been  unable  to  forgive  her,  and  she  beat 
down  the  question  that  would  arise  as  to  whether 
she  also  had  been  at  fault.  She  was  under  the  ne 
cessity  of  justifying  herself  if  she  would  be  happy.  It 
was  only  after  many  months  had  passed  that  she 
learned  how  a  heavy  burden  may  become  light  by 
the  confession  of  a  fault. 

Meantime,  she  was  up  early  each  morning;  she 
breakfasted  with  the  most  alert  residents  of  the 
Caravansary;  then  she  took  the  street-car  to  South 
Chicago  and  reported  at  a  dismal  office.  Here  the 
telephone  served  to  put  her  into  communication 
with  her  superior  at  Settlement  House.  She  re 
ported  what  she  had  done  the  day  before  (though, 
to  be  sure,  a  written  report  was  already  on  its  way), 
she  asked  advice,  she  talked  over  ways  and  means. 
Then  she  started  upon  her  daily  rounds.  These 

92 


THE  PRECIPICE 

might  carry  her  to  any  one  of  half  a  dozen  suburbs 
or  to  the  Court  of  Domestic  Relations,  or  over  on 
the  West  Side  of  the  city  to  the  Juvenile  Court.  She 
appeared  almost  daily  before  some  police  magis 
trate,  and  not  long  after  her  position  was  assumed, 
she  was  called  upon  to  give  evidence  before  the 
grand  jury. 

"However  do  you  manage  it  all?"  Honora  asked 
one  evening  when  Kate  had  been  telling  a  tale  of 
psychically  sinister  import.  "How  can  you  bring 
yourself  to  talk  over  such  terrible  and  revolting 
subjects  as  you  have  to,  before  strange  men  in  open 
court?" 

"A  nice  old  man  asked  me  that  very  question 
to-day  as  I  was  coming  out  of  the  courtroom,"  said 
Kate.  "He  said  he  did  n't  like  to  see  young  women 
doing  such  work  as  I  was  doing.  'Who  will  do  it, 
then?'  I  asked.  'The  men,'  said  he.  'Do  you 
think  we  can  leave  it  to  them?'  I  asked.  'Perhaps 
not,'  he  admitted.  'But  at  least  it  could  be  left  to 
older  women.'  'They  have  n't  the  strength  for  it,' 
I  told  him,  and  then  I  gave  him  a  notion  of  the  num 
ber  of  miles  I  had  ridden  the  day  before  in  the  street 
car  —  it  was  nearly  sixty,  I  believe.  'Are  you  sure 
it's  worth  it?'  he  asked.  He  had  been  listening  to 
the  complaint  I  was  making  against  a  young  man 
who  has,  to  my  knowledge,  completely  destroyed 
the  self-respect  of  five  girls  —  and  I  've  known  him 
but  a  short  time.  You  can  make  an  estimate  of  the 
probable  number  of  crimes  of  his  if  it  amuses  you. 

93 


THE  PRECIPICE 

'  Don't  you  think  it 's  worth  while  if  that  man  is  shut 
up  where  he  can't  do  any  more  mischief?'  I  asked 
him.  Of  course  he  thought  it  was;  but  he  was  still 
shaking  his  head  over  me  when  I  left  him.  He  still 
thought  I  ought  to  be  at  home  making  tidies.  I 
can't  imagine  that  it  ever  occurred  to  him  that  I  was 
a  disinterested  economist  in  trying  to  save  myself 
from  waste." 

She  laughed  lightly  in  spite  of  her  serious  words. 

"Anyway,"  she  said,  "I  find  this  kind  of  life  too 
amusing  to  resign.  One  of  the  settlement  workers 
was  complaining  to  me  this  morning  about  the  in 
herent  lack  of  morals  among  some  of  our  children. 
It  appears  that  the  Harrigans  —  there  are  seven  of 
them  —  commandeered  some  old  clothes  that  had' 
been  sent  in  for  charitable  distribution.  They  poked 
around  in  the  trunks  when  no  one  was  watching  and 
helped  themselves  to  what  they  wanted.  The  next 
day  they  came  to  a  party  at  the  Settlement  House 
togged  up  in  their  plunder.  My  friend  reproved 
them,  but  they  seemed  to  be  impervious  to  her  moral 
comments,  so  she  went  to  the  mother.  'Faith,'  said 
Mrs.  Harrigan,  'I  tould  them  not  to  be  bringing 
home  trash  like  that.  "It  ain't  worth  carryin'  away," 
says  I  to  them.' ' 

About  this  time  Kate  was  invited  to  become  a 
resident  of  Hull  House.  She  was  touched  and  com 
plimented,  but,  with  a  loyalty  for  which  there  was, 
perhaps,  no  demand,  she  remained  faithful  to  her 
friends  at  the  Caravansary.  She  was  loath  to  take 

94 


THE   PRECIPICE 

up  her  residence  with  a  group  which  would  have  too 
much  community  of  interest.  The  ladies  at  Mrs. 
Dennison's  offered  variety.  Life  was  dramatizing 
itself  for  her  there.  In  Honora  and  Marna  and  Mrs. 
Barsaloux  and  those  quiet  yet  intelligent  gentle 
women,  Mrs.  Goodrich  and  Mrs.  Applegate,  in 
the  very  servants  whose  pert  individualism  dis 
tressed  the  mid-Victorian  Mrs.  Dennison,  Kate  saw 
working  those  mysterious  world  forces  concerning 
which  she  was  so  curious.  The  frequent  futility  of 
Nature's  effort  to  throw  to  the  top  this  hitherto 
unutilized  feminine  force  was  no  less  absorbing  than 
the  success  which  sometimes  attended  the  impulsion. 
To  the  general  and  widespread  convulsion,  the  ob 
server  could  no  more  be  oblivious  than  to  an  earth 
quake  or  a  tidal  wave. 


VIII 

KATE  had  not  seen  Lena  Vroom  for  a  long  time, 
and  she  had  indefinitely  missed  her  without  realiz 
ing  it  until  one  afternoon,  as  she  was  searching  for 
something  in  her  trunk,  she  came  across  a  package 
of  Lena's  letters  written  to  her  while  she  was  at 
Silvertree.  That  night  at  the  table  she  asked  if  any 
one  had  seen  Lena  recently. 

"Seen  her?"  echoed  David  Fulham.  "I've  seen 
the  shadow  of  her  blowing  across  the  campus.  She 's 
working  for  her  doctor's  degree,  like  a  lot  of  other 
silly  women.  She's  living  by  herself  somewhere,  on 
crackers  and  cheese,  no  doubt." 

"Would  she  really  be  so  foolish? "  cried  Kate.  "  I 
know  she 's  devoted  to  her  work,  but  surely  she  has 
some  sense  of  moderation." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  protested  the  scientist.  "A  per 
son  of  mediocre  attainments  who  gets  the  Ph.D. 
bee  in  her  bonnet  has  no  sense  of  any  sort.  I  see 
them  daily,  men  and  women,  —  but  women  particu 
larly,  —  stalking  about  the  grounds  and  in  and  out  of 
classes,  like  grotesque  ghosts.  They're  staggering 
under  a  mental  load  too  heavy  for  them,  and  act 
ually  it  might  be  a  physical  load  from  its  effects. 
They  get  lop-sided,  I  swear  they  do,  and  they  ac 
quire  all  sorts  of  miserable  little  personal  habits  that 

96 


THE   PRECIPICE 

make  them  both  pitiable  and  ridiculous.  For  my 
part,  I  believe  the  day  will  come  when  no  woman 
will  be  permitted  to  try  for  the  higher  degrees  till 
her  brain  has  been  scientifically  tested  and  found  to 
be  adequate  for  the  work." 

"  But  as  for  Lena,"  said  Kate,  "  I  thought  she  was 
quite  a  wonder  at  her  lessons." 

"Up  to  a  certain  point,"  admitted  Fulham,  "  I  Ve 
no  doubt  she  does  very  well.  But  she  has  n't  the 
capacity  for  higher  work,  and  she'll  be  the  last  one 
to  realize  it.  My  advice  to  you,  Miss  Barrington,  is 
to  look  up  your  friend  and  see  what  she  is  doing  with 
herself.  You  have  n't  any  of  you  an  idea  of  the 
tragedies  of  the  classroom,  and  I  '11  not  tell  them  to 
you.  But  they  're  serious  enough,  take  my  word  for 
it." 

11  Yes,  do  look  her  up,  Kate,"  urged  Honora. 

"It's  hard  to  manage  anything  extra  during  the 
day,"  said  Kate.  "I  must  go  some  evening." 

"Perhaps  Cousin  Mary  could  go  with  you,"  sug 
gested  Honora.  Honora  threw  a  glance  of  affection 
ate  admiration  at  her  young  cousin,  who  had  blos 
somed  out  in  a  bewitching  little  frock  of  baby  blue, 
and  whose  eyes  reflected  the  color. 

She  was,  indeed,  an  entrancing  thing,  was  "Blue- 
eyed  Mary."  The  tenderness  of  her  lips,  the  softness 
of  her  complexion,  the  glamour  of  her  glance  in 
creased  day  by  day,  and  without  apparent  reason. 
She  seemed  to  be  more  eloquent,  with  the  sheer  elo 
quence  of  womanly  emotion.  Everything  that  made 

97 


THE  PRECIPICE 

her  winning  was  intensified,  as  if  Love,  the  Master, 
had  touched  to  vividness  what  hitherto  had  been 
no  more  than  a  mere  promise. 

What  was  the  secret  of  this  exotic  florescence? 
She  went  out  only  to  University  affairs  with  Honors 
or  Kate,  or  to  the  city  with  Marna  Cartan.  Her  in 
terests  appeared  to  be  few;  and  she  was  neither  a 
writer  nor  a  receiver  of  letters.  Altogether,  the 
sources  of  that  hidden  joy  which  threw  its  enchant 
ment  over  her  were  not  to  be  guessed. 

But  what  did  it  all  matter?  She  was  an  exhila 
rating  companion  —  and  what  a  contrast  to  poor 
Lena!  That  night,  lying  in  bed,  Kate  reproached 
herself  for  her  neglect  of  her  once  so  faithful  friend. 
Lena  might  be  going  through  some  severe  experi 
ence,  alone  and  unaided.  Kate  determined  to  find 
out  the  truth,  and  as  she  had  a  half-holiday  on 
Saturday,  she  started  on  her  quest. 

Lena,  it  transpired,  had  moved  twice  during  the 
term  and  had  neglected  to  register  her  latest  address. 
So  she  was  found  only  after  much  searching,  and 
twilight  was  already  gathering  when  Kate  reached 
the  dingy  apartment  in  which  Lena  had  secreted  her 
self.  It  was  a  rear  room  up  three  flights  of  stairs, 
approached  by  a  long,  narrow  corridor  which  the 
economical  proprietor  had  left  in  darkness.  Kate 
rapped  softly  at  first;  then,  as  no  one  answered,  most 
sharply.  She  was  on  the  point  of  going  away  when 
the  door  was  opened  a  bare  crack  and  the  white, 
pinched  face  of  Lena  Vroom  peered  out. 

98 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"It's  only  Kate,  Lena!  "  Then,  as  there  was  no 
response:  "Are  n't  you  going  to  let  me  in?" 

Still  Lena  did  not  fling  wide  the  door. 

"Oh,  Kate!"  she  said  vaguely,  in  a  voice  that 
seemed  to  drift  from  a  Maeterlinckian  mist.  "How 
are  you?" 

"Pretty  sulky,  thank  you.  Why  don't  you  open 
the  door,  girl?" 

At  that  Lena  drew  back;  but  she  was  obviously 
annoyed.  Kate  stepped  into  the  bare,  unkempt 
room.  Remnants  of  a  miserable  makeshift  meal 
were  to  be  seen  on  a  rickety  cutting- table;  the  bed 
was  unmade;  and  on  the  desk,  in  the  center  of  the 
room,  a  drop-lamp  with  a  leaking  tube  polluted  the 
air.  There  was  a  formidable  litter  of  papers  on  a 
great  table,  and  before  it  stood  a  swivel  chair  where 
Lena  Vroom  had  been  sitting  preparing  for  her 
degree. 

Kate  deliberately  took  this  all  in  and  then  turned 
her  gaze  on  her  friend. 

"What 's  the  use,  girl?"  she  demanded  with  more 
than  her  usual  abruptness.  "What  are  you  doing  it 
all  for?" 

Lena  threw  a  haggard  glance  at  her. 

"We  won't  talk  about  that,"  she  said  in  that  re 
mote,  sunken  voice.  "I  haven't  the  strength  to 
discuss  it.  To  be  perfectly  frank,  Kate,  you  must  n't 
visit  me  now.  You  see,  I  'm  studying  night  and  day 
for  the  inquisition." 

"The—" 

99 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"Yes,  inquisition.  You  see,  it  is  n't  enough  that 
my  thesis  should  be  finished.  I  can't  get  my  degree 
without  a  last,  terrible  ordeal.  Oh,  Kate,  you  can't 
imagine  what  it  is  like !  Girls  who  have  been  through 
it  have  told  me.  You  are  asked  into  a  room  where 
the  most  important  members  of  the  faculty  are  gath 
ered.  They  sit  about  you  in  a  semicircle  and  for 
hours  they  hurl  questions  at  you,  not  necessarily 
questions  relating  to  anything  you  have  studied,  but 
inquiries  to  test  your  general  intelligence.  It's  a 
fearful  experience." 

She  sank  on  her  unmade  cot,  drawing  a  ragged 
sweater  about  her  shoulders,  and  looked  up  at  Kate 
with  an  almost  furtive  gaze.  She  always  had  been 
a  small,  meagre  creature,  but  now  she  seemed  posi 
tively  shriveled.  The  pride  and  plenitude  of  wo 
manhood  were  as  far  from  her  realization  as  they 
could  be  from  a  daughter  of  Eve.  Sexless,  stranded, 
broken  before  an  undertaking  too  great  for  her,  she 
sat  there  in  the  throes  of  a  sudden,  nervous  chill. 
Then,  after  a  moment  or  two,  she  began  to  weep  and 
was  rent  and  torn  with  long,  shuddering  sobs. 

"  I  'm  so  afraid,"  she  moaned.  "Oh,  Kate,  I 'm  so 
terribly,  terribly  afraid!  I  know  I'll  fail." 

Kate  strangled  down,  "The  best  thing  that  could 
happen  to  you";  and  said  instead,  "You  aren't 
going  about  the  thing  in  the  best  way  to  succeed." 

"  I've  done  all  I  could,"  moaned  her  friend.  "  I've 
only  allowed  myself  four  hours  a  night  for  sleep ;  and 
have  hardly  taken  out  time  for  meals.  I  Ve  concen- 

100 


THE  PRECIPICE 

trated  as  it  seems  to  me  no  one  ever  concentrated 
before." 

"Oh,  Lena,  Lena!"  Kate  cried  compassionately. 
"  Can  it  really  be  that  you  have  so  little  sense,  after 
all?  Oh,  you  poor  little  drowned  rat,  you."  She 
bent  over  her,  pulled  the  worn  slippers  from  her 
feet,  and  thrust  her  beneath  the  covers. 

"No,  no!"  protested  Lena.  "You  must  n't,  Kate! 
I  Ve  got  to  get  at  my  books." 

"Say  another  word  and  I'll  throw  them  out  of 
the  window, ' '  cried  Kate,  really  aroused.  ' '  Lie  down 
there." 

Lena  began  again  to  sob,  but  this  time  with  help 
less  anger,  for  Kate  looked  like  a  grenadier  as  she 
towered  there  in  the  small  room  and  it  was  easy  to 
see  that  she  meant  to  be  obeyed.  She  exploretl  Lena's 
cupboard  for  supplies,  and  found,  after  some  search 
ing,  a  can  of  soup  and  the  inevitable  crackers.  She 
heated  the  soup,  toasted  the  crackers,  and  forced 
Lena  to  eat.  Then  she  extinguished  the  lamp,  with 
its  poisonous  odor,  and,  wrapping  herself  in  her  cloak 
threw  open  the  window  and  sat  in  the  gloom,  softly 
chatting  about  this  and  that.  Lena  made  no  coher 
ent  answers.  She  lay  in  sullen  torment,  casting  tear 
ful  glances  at  her  benevolent  oppressor. 

But  Kate  had  set  her  will  to  conquer  that  of  her 
friend  and  Lena's  hysteric  opposition  was  no  match 
for  it.  Little  by  little  the  tense  form  beneath  the 
blankets  relaxed.  Her  stormily  drawn  breath  be 
came  more  even.  At  last  she  slept,  which  gave  Kate 

101 


.      THE   PRECIPICE 

an  opportunity  to  slip  out  to  buy  a  new  tube  for  the 
lamp  and  adjust  it  properly.  She  felt  quite  safe  in 
lighting  it,  for  Lena  lay  in  complete  exhaustion,  and 
she  took  the  liberty  of  looking  over  the  clothes  which 
were  bundled  into  an  improvised  closet  on  the  back 
of  the  door.  Everything  was  in  wretched  condition 
Buttons  and  hooks  were  lacking ;  a  heap  of  darning 
lay  untouched ;  Lena's  veil,  with  which  she  attempted 
to  hide  the  ruin  of  her  hat,  was  crumpled  into  the 
semblance  of  a  rain-soaked  cobweb ;  and  her  shoes  had 
gone  long  without  the  reassurance  of  a  good  blacking. 
Kate  put  some  irons  over  the  stove  which  served 
Lena  as  a  cooking-range,  and  proceeded  on  a  cam 
paign  of  reconstruction.  It  was  midnight  when  she 
finished,  and  she  was  weary  and  heartsick.  The 
little,  strained  face  on  the  pillow  seemed  to  belong 
to  one  whom  the  furies  were  pursuing.  Yet  nothing 
was  pursuing  her  save  her  own  fanatical  desire  for  a 
thing  which,  once  obtained,  would  avail  her  nothing. 
She  had  not  personality  enough  to  meet  life  on  terms 
which  would  allow  her  one  iota  of  leadership.  She  was 
discountenanced  by  her  inherent  drabness:  beaten 
by  the  limits  of  her  capacity.  When  Kate  had  ordered 
the  room,  —  scrupulously  refraining  from  touching 
any  of  Lena's  papers,  —  she  opened  the  window  and, 
putting  the  catch  on  the  door,  closed  it  softly  be 
hind  her. 

Kate's  frequent  visits  to  Lena,  though  brief,  wen 
none  too  welcome.   Even  the  food  she  brought  with 

102 


THE   PRECIPICE 

her  might  better,  in  Lena's  estimation,  be  dispensed 
with  than  that  the  all-absorbing  reading  and  research 
•'hould  be  interrupted.  Finally  Kate  called  one  night 
to  find  Lena  gone.  She  had  taken  her  trunk  and  oil- 
stove  and  the  overworked  gas-lamp  and  had  stolen 
away.  To  ferret  her  out  would  have  been  inexcus 
able. 

"It  shows  how  changed  she  is,"  Kate  said  to 
Honora.  "Fancy  the  old-time  Lena  hiding  from 
me!" 

"You  must  think  of  her  as  having  a  run  of  fever, 
Kate.  Whatever  she  does  must  be  regarded  as  sim 
ply  symptomatic,"  said  Honora,  understandingly. 
"She's  really  half-mad.  David  says  the  graduates 
are  often  like  that  —  the  feminine  ones." 

Kate  tried  to  look  at  it  in  a  philosophic  way, 
but  her  heart  yearned  and  ached  over  the  poor,  in 
fatuated  fugitive.  The  February  convocation  was 
drawing  near,  and  with  it  Lena's  dreaded  day  of 
examination.  The  night  before  its  occurrence,  the 
conversation  at  the  Caravansary  turned  to  the  can 
didates  for  the  honors. 

"There  are  some  who  meet  the  quiz  gallantly 
enough,"  David  Fulham  remarked.  "But  the  ma 
jority  certainly  come  like  galley  slaves  scourged  to 
their  dungeon.  Some  of  them  would  move  a  heart 
of  stone  with  their  sufferings.  Honora,  why  don't 
you  and  Miss  Harrington  look  up  your  friend  Miss 
Vroom  once  more?  She's  probably  needing  you 
pretty  badly." 

103 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"I  don't  mind  being  a  special  officer,  Mr.  Ful- 
ham,"  said  Kate,  "and  it's  my  pride  and  pleasure 
to  make  child-beaters  tremble  and  to  arrest  brawny 
fathers,  —  I  make  rather  a  specialty  of  six-foot  ones, 
—  but  really  I  'm  timid  about  going  to  Lena's  again. 
She  has  given  me  to  understand  that  she  does  n't 
want  me  around,  and  I  'm  not  enough  of  a  pachy 
derm  to  get  in  the  way  of  her  arrows  again." 

But  David  Fulham  could  n't  take  that  view  of  it. 

"She's  not  sane,"  he  declared.  ''Couldn't  be 
after  such  a  course  as  she's  been  putting  herself 
through.  She  needs  help." 

However,  neither  Kate  nor  Honora  ventured  to 
offer  it.  They  spent  the  evening  together  in  Hon- 
ora's  drawing-room.  The  hours  passed  more  rapidly 
than  they  realized,  and  at  midnight  David  came 
stamping  in.  His  face  was  white. 

"You  haven't  been  to  the  laboratory,  David?" 
reproached  his  wife.  "Really,  you  mustn't.  I 
thought  it  was  agreed  between  us  that  we  'd  act  like 
civilized  householders  in  the  evening."  She  was 
regarding  him  with  an  expression  of  affectionate 
reproof. 

"I've  been  doing  laboratory  work,"  he  said 
shortly,  "but  it  was  n't  in  the  chemical  laboratory. 
Wickersham  and  I  hunted  up  your  friend  —  and  we 
found  her  in  a  state  of  collapse." 

"No!"  cried  Kate,  starting  to  her  feet. 

"I  told  you,  did  n't  I?"  returned  David.  "Don't 
I  know  them,  the  geese?  We  had  to  break  in  her 

104 


THE   PRECIPICE 

door,  and  there  she  was  sitting  at  her  study-table, 
staring  at  her  books  and  seeing  nothing.  She 
couldn't  talk  to  us  —  had  a  temporary  attack  of 
severe  aphasia,  I  suppose.  Wickersham  said  he'd 
been  anxious  about  her  for  weeks  —  she 's  been 
specializing  with  him,  you  know." 

"What  did  you  do  with  her?"  demanded  Honora. 

"Bundled  her  up  in  her  outside  garments  and 
dragged  her  out  of  doors  between  us  and  made  her 
walk.  She  could  hardly  stand  at  first.  We  had  to 
hold  her  up.  But  we  kept  right  on  hustling  her  along, 
and  after  a  time  when  the  fresh  air  and  exercise  had 
got  in  their  work,  she  could  find  the  right  word  when 
she  tried  to  speak  to  us.  Then  we  took  her  to  a  res 
taurant  and  ordered  a  beefsteak  and  some  other 
things.  She  wanted  to  go  back  to  her  room  —  said 
she  had  more  studying  to  do ;  but  we  made  it  clear 
to  her  at  last  that  it  was  n't  any  use,  —  that  she  'd 
have  to  stand  or  fall  on  what  she  had.  She  promised 
us  she  would  n't  look  at  a  book,  but  would  go  to  bed 
and  sleep,  and  anybody  who  has  the  hardihood  to 
wish  that  she  wins  her  degree  may  pray  for  a  good 
night  for  her." 

Honora  was  looking  at  her  husband  with  a  wide, 
shining  gaze. 

"How  did  you  come  to  go  to  her,  David?"  she 
asked  admiringly.  "She  was  n't  in  any  of  your 
classes." 

"Now,  don't  try  to  make  out  that  I'm  benevo 
lent,  Honora,"  Fulham  said  petulantly.  "I  went 

105 


THE  PRECIPICE 

because  I  happened  to  meet  Wickersham  on  the 
Midway.  She's  been  hiding,  but  he  had  searched 
her  out  and  appealed  to  me  to  go  with  him.  What  I 
did  was  at  his  request." 

"But  she'll  be  refreshed  in  the  morning,"  said 
Honora.  "  She'll  come  out  all  right,  won't  she?" 

"How  do  I  know?"  demanded  Fulham.  "I  sup 
pose  she'll  feel  like  a  man  going  to  execution  when 
she  enters  that  council-room.  Maybe  she'll  stand 
up  to  it  and  maybe  she  '11  not.  She  '11  spend  as  much 
nervous  energy  on  the  experience  as  would  carry  her 
through  months  of  sane,  reasonable  living  in  the 
place  she  ought  to  be  in  —  that  is  to  say,  in  a  mil 
linery  store  or  some  plain  man's  kitchen." 

"Oh,  David!"  said  Honora  with  gentle  wifely  re 
proach. 

But  Fulham  was  making  no  apologies. 

"If  we  men  ill-treated  women  as  they  ill-treat 
themselves,"  he  said,  "we'd  be  called  brutes  of  the 
worst  sort." 

"Of  course!"  cried  Kate.  "A  person  may  have 
some  right  to  ill-treat  himself,  but  he  never  has  any 
right  to  ill-treat  another." 

"  If  we  hitched  her  up  to  a  plough,"  went  on  Ful 
ham,  not  heeding,  "we  shouldn't  be  overtaxing 
her  physical  strength  any  more  than  she  overtaxes 
her  mental  strength  when  she  tries  —  the  ordinary 
woman,  I  mean,  like  Miss  Vroom  —  to  keep  up  to 
the  pace  set  by  men  of  first-rate  caliber." 

He  went  up  to  bed  on  this,  still  disturbed,  and 
106 


THE   PRECIPICE 

Honora  and  Kate,  much  depressed,  talked  the  mat 
ter  over.  But  they  reached  no  conclusion.  They 
wanted  to  go  around  the  next  morning  and  help 
Lena,  —  get  her  breakfast  and  see  that  she  was 
properly  dressed,  —  but  they  knew  they  would  be 
unwelcome.  Later  they  heard  that  she  had  come 
through  the  ordeal  after  a  fashion.  She  had  given 
indications  of  tremendous  research.  But  her  eyes, 
Wickersham  told  Kate  privately,  looked  like  dis 
eased  oysters,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that  she  was  on 
the  point  of  collapse. 

Kate  saw  nothing  of  her  until  the  day  of  convo 
cation,  though  she  tried  several  times  to  get  into 
communication  with  her.  There  must  have  been 
quite  two  hundred  figures  in  the  line  that  wound 
before  the  President  and  the  other  dignitaries  to 
receive  their  diplomas;  and  the  great  hall  was 
thronged  with  interested  spectators.  Kate  could 
have  thrilled  with  pride  of  her  alma  mater  had  not  her 
heart  been  torn  with  sympathy  for  her  friend  whose 
emaciated  figure  looked  more  pathetic  than  ever  be 
fore.  Now  and  then  a  spasmodic  movement  shook 
her,  causing  her  head  to  quiver  like  one  with  the 
palsy  and  her  hands  to  make  futile  gestures.  And 
although  she  was  the  most  touching  and  the  least 
joyous  of  those  who  went  forward  to  victory,  she 
was  not,  after  all,  so  very  exceptional. 

Kate  could  not  help  noticing  how  jaded  and  how 
spent  were  many  of  the  candidates  for  the  higher 
degrees.  They  seemed  to  move  in  a  tense  dream, 

107 


THE   PRECIPICE 

their  eyes  turning  neither  to  right  nor  left,  and  the 
whole  of  them  bent  on  the  one  idea  of  their  dear 
achievement.  Although  there  were  some  stirring 
figures  among  them,  —  men  and  women  who  seemed 
to  have  come  into  the  noble  heritage  which  had  been 
awaiting  them,  —  there  were  more  who  looked  de 
pleted  and  unfit.  It  grew  on  Kate,  how  superfluous 
scholarship  was  when  superimposed  on  a  feeble  per 
sonality.  The  colleges  could  not  make  a  man,  try 
as  they  might.  They  could  add  to  the  capacity  of 
an  endowed  and  adventurous  individual,  but  for 
the  inept,  the  diffident,  their  learning  availed  no 
thing.  They  could  cram  bewildered  heads  with 
facts  and  theories,  but  they  could  not  hold  the 
mediocre  back  from  their  inevitable  anticlimax. 

"A  learned  derelict  is  no  better  than  any  other 
kind,"  mused  Kate  compassionately.  She  resolved 
that  now,  at  last,  she  would  command  Lena's  obe 
dience.  She  would  compel  her  to  take  a  vacation, 
—  would  find  out  what  kind  of  a  future  she  had 
planned.  She  would  surround  her  with  small, 
friendly  offices;  would  help  her  to  fit  herself  out  in 
new  garments,  and  would  talk  over  ways  and 
means  with  her. 

She  went  the  next  day  to  the  room  where  Lena's 
compassionate  professors  had  found  her  that  night 
of  dread  and  terror  before  her  examination.  But  she 
had  disappeared  again,  and  the  landlady  could  give 
no  information  concerning  her. 


IX 

THE  day  was  set.  Marna  was  to  sing.  It  seemed  to 
the  little  group  of  friends  as  if  the  whole  city  pal 
pitated  with  the  fact.  At  any  rate,  the  Caravansary 
did  so.  They  talked  of  little  else,  and  Mary  Morri 
son  wept  for  envy.  Not  that  it  was  mean  envy.  Her 
weeping  was  a  sort  of  tribute,  and  Marna  felt  it  to 
be  so. 

"You're  going  to  be  wonderful,"  Mary  sobbed. 
"The  rest  of  us  are  merely  young,  or  just  women,  or 
men.  We  can't  be  anything  more  no  matter  how 
hard  we  try,  though  we  keep  feeling  as  if  we  were 
something  more.  But  you're  going  to  SING!  Oh, 
Marna!" 

Time  wore  on,  and  Marna  grew  hectic  with  antic 
ipation.  Her  lips  were  too  red,  her  breath  came  too 
quickly;  she  intensified  herself;  and  she  practiced 
her  quivering,  fitful,  passionate  songs  with  religious 
devotion.  So  many  things  centered  around  the  girl 
that  it  was  no  wonder  that  she  began  to  feel  a  dis 
proportionate  sense  of  responsibility.  All  of  her 
friends  were  taking  it  for  granted  that  she  would 
make  a  success. 

Mrs.  Barsaloux  was  giving  a  supper  at  the  Black- 
stone  after  the  performance.  The  opera  people  were 
coming  and  a  number  of  other  distinguished  ones; 

109 


THE   PRECIPICE 

and  Marna  was  having  a  frock  made  of  the  color  of 
a  gold-of-Ophir  rose  satin  which  was  to  clothe  her 
like  sunshine.  Honora  brought  out  a  necklace  of 
yellow  opals  whimsically  fashioned. 

"  I  no  longer  use  such  things,  child,"  she  said  with 
a  touch  of  emotion.  "And  I  want  you  to  wear  them 
with  your  yellow  dress." 

"Why,  they're  like  drops  of  water  with  the  sun 
in  them!"  cried  Marna.  "How  good  you  all  are  to 
me!  I  can't  imagine  why." 

When  the  great  night  came,  the  audience  left 
something  to  be  desired,  both  as  to  numbers  and 
fashion.  Although  Mama's  appearance  had  been 
well  advertised,  it  was  evident  that  the  public  pre 
ferred  to  listen  to  the  great  stars.  But  the  house  was 
full  enough  and  enthusiastic  enough  to  awaken  in 
the  little  Irish  girl's  breast  that  form  of  elation 
which  masks  as  self -obliteration,  and  which  is  the 
fuel  that  feeds  the  fires  of  art. 

Kate  had  gone  with  the  Fulhams  and  they,  with 
Blue-eyed  Mary  and  Dr.  von  Shierbrand,  sat  to 
gether  in  the  box  which  Mrs.  Barsaloux  had  given 
them,  and  where,  from  time  to  time,  she  joined 
them.  But  chiefly  she  hovered  around  Marna  in 
that  dim  vast  world  back  of  the  curtain. 

They  said  of  Marna  afterward  that  she  was  like  a 
spirit.  She  seemed  less  and  more  than  a  woman,  an 
evanescent  essence  of  feminine  delight.  Her  laugh 
ter,  her  tears,  her  swift  emotions  were  all  as  some 
thing  held  for  a  moment  before  the  eye  and  snatched 

no 


THE   PRECIPICE 

away,  to  leave  but  the  wavering  eidolon  of  their  love 
liness.  She  sang  with  a  young  Italian  who  responded 
exquisitely  to  the  swift,  bright,  unsubstantial  beauty 
of  her  acting,  and  whom  she  seemed  fairly  to  bathe 
in  the  amber  loveliness  of  her  voice. 

Kate,  quivering  for  her,  seeming  indefinably  to  be 
a  part  of  her,  suffering  at  the  hesitancies  of  the  au 
dience  and  shaken  with  their  approval,  was  glad 
when  it  was  all  over.  She  hastened  out  to  be  with 
the  crowd  and  to  hear  what  they  were  saying.  They 
were  warm  in  their  praise,  but  Kate  was  dissatisfied. 
She  longed  for  something  more  emphatic  —  some 
excess  of  acclaim.  She  wondered  if  they  were  wait 
ing  for  more  authoritative  audiences  to  set  the  stamp 
of  approval  on  Marna.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  that 
they  had  found  the  performance  too  opalescent  and 
elusive. 

Kate  wondered  if  the  girl  would  feel  that  any 
thing  had  been  missing,  but  Marna  seemed  to  be 
basking  in  the  happiness  of  the  hour.  The  great 
German  prima  donna  had  kissed  her  with  tears 
in  her  eyes;  the  French  baritone  had  spoken  his 
compliments  with  convincing  ardor;  dozens  had 
crowded  about  her  with  congratulations;  and  now, 
at  the  head  of  the  glittering  table  in  an  opulent  room, 
the  little  descendant  of  minstrels  sat  and  smiled 
upon  her  friends.  A  gilded  crown  of  laurel  leaves 
rested  on  her  dark  hair;  her  white  neck  arose  del 
icately  from  the  yellowed  lace  and  the  shining  silk; 
the  sunny  opals  rested  upon  her  shoulders. 

in 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"I  drink,"  cried  the  French  baritone,  "to  a  voice 
of  honey  and  an  ivory  throat." 

"To  a  great  career,"  supplemented  David  Fulham. 

"And  happiness,"  Kate  broke  in,  standing  with 
the  others  and  forgetting  to  be  abashed  by  the  pres 
ence  of  so  many.  Then  she  called  to  Marna:  — 

"I  was  afraid  they  would  leave  out  happiness." 

Kate  might  have  been  the  belated  fairy  godmother 
who  brought  this  gift  in  the  nick  of  time.  Those  at 
the  table  smiled  at  her  indulgently,  —  she  was  so 
eager,  so  young,  so  almost  fierce.  She  had  dressed 
herself  in  white  without  frill  or  decoration,  and  the 
clinging  folds  of  her  gown  draped  her  like  a  slender, 
chaste  statue.  She  wore  no  jewels,  —  she  had  none, 
indeed,  —  and  her  dark  coiled  hair  in  no  way  dis 
guised  the  shape  of  her  fine  head.  The  elaborate 
Polish  contralto  across  from  her,  splendid  as  a  medi- 
seval  queen,  threw  Kate's  simplicity  into  sharp  con 
trast.  Marna  turned  adoring  eyes  upon  her;  Mrs. 
Barsaloux,  that  inveterate  encourager  of  genius, 
grieved  that  the  girl  had  no  specialty  for  her  to  fos 
ter;  the  foreigners  paid  her  frank  tribute,  and  there 
was  no  question  but  that  the  appraisement  upon 
her  that  night  was  high. 

As  for  Marna's  happiness,  for  which  Kate  had  put 
in  her  stipulation,  it  was  coming  post-haste,  though 
by  a  circuitous  road. 

Mrs.  Dennison,  who  had  received  tickets  from 
Marna,  and  who  had  begged  her  nephew,  George 

112 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Fitzgerald,  to  act  as  her  escort,  was,  in  her  fashion, 
too,  wondering  about  the  question  of  happiness  for 
the  girl.  She  was  an  old-fashioned  creature,  mid- 
Victorian  in  her  sincerity.  She  had  kissed  one  man 
and  one  only,  and  him  had  she  married,  and  sorrow 
ing  over  her  childless  estate  she  had  become,  when 
she  laid  her  husband  in  his  grave,  "a  widow  indeed." 
Her  abundant  affection,  disused  by  this  accident  of 
fate,  had  spent  itself  in  warm  friendships,  and  in  her 
devotion  to  her  dead  sister's  child.  She  had  worked 
for  him  till  the  silver  came  into  her  hair;  had  sent 
him  through  his  classical  course  and  through  the 
medical  college,  and  the  day  when  she  saw  him  win 
his  title  of  doctor  of  medicine  was  the  richest  one  of 
her  middle  life. 

He  sat  beside  her  now,  strangely  pale  and  dis 
turbed.  The  opera,  she  was  sorry  to  note,  had  not 
interested  him  as  she  had  expected  it  would.  He 
had,  oddly  enough,  been  reluctant  to  accompany 
her,  and,  as  she  was  accustomed  to  his  quick  devo 
tion,  this  distressed  her  not  a  little.  Was  he  grow 
ing  tired  of  her?  Was  he  ashamed  to  be  seen  at  the 
opera  with  a  quiet  woman  in  widow's  dress,  a  touch 
shabby?  Was  her  much- tired  heart  to  have  a  last 
cruel  blow  dealt  it?  Accustomed  to  rather  somber 
pathways  of  thought,  she  could  not  escape  this  one ; 
yet  she  loyally  endeavored  to  turn  from  it,  and  from 
time  to  time  she  stole  a  look  at  the  stern,  pale  face 
beside  her  to  discover,  if  she  could,  what  had  robbed 
him  of  his  good  cheer. 


THE   PRECIPICE 

For  he  had  been  a  happy  boy.  His  high  spirits 
had  constituted  a  large  part  of  his  attraction  for  her. 
When  he  had  come  to  her  orphaned,  it  had  been 
with  warm  gratitude  in  his  heart,  and  with  the  ex 
pectation  of  being  loved.  As  he  grew  older,  that 
policy  of  life  had  become  accentuated.  He  was  ex 
pectant  in  all  that  he  did.  His  temperamental  friend 
liness  had  carried  him  through  college,  winning  for 
him  a  warm  group  of  friends  and  the  genuine  regard 
of  his  professors.  It  was  helping  him  to  make  his 
way  in  the  place  he  had  chosen  for  his  field  of  action. 
He  had  not  gone  into  the  more  fashionable  part  of 
town,  but  far  over  on  the  West  Side,  where  the  slov 
enliness  of  the  central  part  of  the  city  shambles 
into  a  community  of  parks  and  boulevards,  crude 
among  their  young  trees  surrounded  by  neat,  self- 
respecting  apartment  houses.  Such  communities 
are  to  be  found  in  all  American  cities;  communities 
which  set  little  store  by  fashion,  which  prize  educa 
tion  (always  providing  it  does  not  prove  exotic  and 
breed  genius  or  any  form  of  disturbing  beauty), 
live  within  their  incomes  and  cultivate  the  mani 
fest  virtues.  The  environment  suited  George  Fitz 
gerald.  He  had  an  honest  soul  without  a  bohemian 
impulse  in  him.  He  recognized  himself  as  being 
middle-class,  and  he  was  proud  and  glad  of  it. 
He  liked  to  be  among  people  who  kept  their  feet 
on  the  earth  —  people  whose  yea  was  yea  and 
whose  nay  was  nay.  What  was  Celtic  in  him  could 
do  no  more  for  him  than  lend  a  touch  of  almost 

114 


THE  PRECIPICE 

flaring  optimism  to  the  Puritan  integrity  of  his 
character. 

Sundays,  as  a  matter  of  habit,  and  occasionally  on 
other  days,  he  was  his  aunt's  guest  at  the  Cara 
vansary.  The  intellectual  cooperatives  there  liked 
him,  as  indeed  everybody  did,  everywhere.  Invari 
ably  Mrs.  Dennison  was  told  after  his  departure 
that  she  was  a  fortunate  woman  to  have  such  an 
adopted  son.  Yet  Fitzgerald  knew  very  well  that 
he  was  unable  to  be  completely  himself  among  his 
aunt's  patrons.  Their  conversation  was  too  glanc 
ing;  they  too  often  said  what  they  did  not  mean,  for 
mere  conversation's  sake;  they  played -with  ideas, 
tossing  them  about  like  juggler's  balls;  and  they  at 
tached  importance  to  matters  which  seemed  to  him 
of  little  account. 

Of  late  he  had  been  going  to  his  aunt's  but  seldom, 
and  he  had  stayed  away  because  he  wanted,  above 
all  things  in  the  world,  to  go.  It  had  become  an 
agony  to  go  —  an  anguish  to  absent  himself.  Which 
being  interpreted,  means  that  he  was  in  love.  And 
whom  should  he  love  but  Marna?  Why  should  any 
man  trouble  himself  to  love  another  woman  when 
this  glancing,  flashing,  singing  bird  was  winging  it 
through  the  blue?  Were  any  other  lips  so  tender,  so 
tremulous,  so  arched,  so  sweet?  The  breath  that 
came  between  them  was  perfumed  with  health;  the 
little  rows  of  gleaming  teeth  were  indescribably 
provocative.  Actually,  the  little  red  tongue  itself 
seemed  to  fold  itself  upward,  at  the  edges,  like  a 


THE   PRECIPICE 

tender  leaf.  As  for  her  nostrils,  they  were  delicately 
flaring  like  those  of  some  wood  creature,  and  fash 
ioned  for  the  enjoyment  of  odorous  banquets  un 
dreamed  of  by  duller  beings.  Her  eyes,  like  pools  in 
shade,  breathing  mystery  and  dreams,  got  between 
him  and  his  sleep  and  held  him  intoxicated  in  his 
bed. 

Yes,  that  was  Marna  as  she  looked  to  the  eye  of 
love.  She  was  made  for  one  man's  love  and  nothing 
else,  yet  she  was  about  to  become  the  well-loved  of 
the  great  world !  She  was  not  for  him  —  was  not 
made  for  a  man  of  his  mould.  She  had  flashed  from 
obscurity  to  something  rich  and  plenteous,  obviously 
the  child  of  Destiny  —  a  little  princess  waiting  for 
her  crown.  He  had  not  even  talked  to  her  many 
times,  and  she  had  no  notion  that  when  she  entered 
the  room  he  trembled;  and  that  when  she  spoke  to 
him  and  turned  the  swimming  loveliness  of  her  eyes 
upon  him,  he  had  trouble  to  keep  his  own  from  fill 
ing  with  tears. 

And  this  was  the  night  of  her  dedication  to  the 
world;  the  world  was  seating  her  upon  her  throne, 
acclaiming  her  coronation.  There  was  nothing  for 
him  but  to  go  on  through  an  interminably  long  life, 
bearing  a  brave  front  and  hiding  his  wound. 

He  loathed  the  incoherent  music;  detested  the 
conductor;  despised  the  orchestra;  felt  murderous 
toward  the  Italian  tenor;  and  could  have  slain  the 
man  who  wrote  the  opera,  since  it  made  his  bright 
girl  a  target  for  praise  and  blame.  He  feared  his 

116 


THE  PRECIPICE 

aunt's  scrutiny,  for  she  had  sharp  perceptions,  and 
he  could  have  endured  anything  better  than  that  she 
should  spy  upon  his  sacred  pain.  So  he  sat  by  her 
side,  passionately  solitary  amid  a  crowd  and  longing 
to  hide  himself  from  the  society  of  all  men. 

But  he  must  be  distrait,  indeed,  if  he  could  forget 
the  claim  his  good  aunt  had  upon  him.  He  knew 
how  she  loved  gayety ;  and  her  daily  life  offered  her 
little  save  labor  and  monotony. 

"Supper  next,"  he  said  with  forced  cheerfulness 
as  they  came  out  of  the  opera-house  together.  "  I  '11 
do  the  ordering.  You  '11  enjoy  a  meal  for  once  which 
is  served  independently  of  you." 

He  tried  to  talk  about  this  and  that  as  they  made 
their  way  on  to  a  glaring  below-stairs  restaurant, 
where  after- theater  folk  gathered.  The  showy  com 
pany  jarred  hideously  on  Fitzgerald,  yet  gave  him 
a  chance  to  save  his  face  by  pretending  to  watch 
it.  He  could  tell  his  aunt  who  some  of  the  people 
were,  and  she  would  transfer  her  curiosity  from  him 
to  them. 

"They'll  be  having  a  glorious  time  at  Miss  Car- 
tan's  supper,"  mused  Mrs.  Dennison.  "How  she 
shines,  does  n't  she,  George?  And  when  you  think 
of  her  beginnings  there  on  that  Wisconsin  farm, 
is  n't  it  astonishing?" 

"Those  were  n't  her  beginnings,  I  fancy,"  George 
said,  venturing  to  taste  of  discussion  concerning  her 
as  a  brandy-lover  may  smell  a  glass  he  swears  he  will 
not  drink.  "Her  beginnings  were  very  long  ago. 

117 


THE  PRECIPICE 

She 's  a  Celt,  and  she  has  the  witchery  of  the  Celts. 
How  I'd  love  to  hear  her  recite  some  of  the  new 
Irish  poems!" 

"She'd  do  it  beautifully,  George.  She  does  every 
thing  beautifully.  If  I  'd  had  a  daughter  like  that, 
boy,  what  a  different  thing  my  life  would  be!  Or  if 
you  were  to  give  me  — " 

George  clicked  his  ice  sharply  in  his  glass.  "  See," 
he  said,  "there's  Hackett  coming  in  —  Hackett  the 
actor.  Handsome  devil,  is  n't  he?" 

"Don't  use  that  tone,  George,"  said  his  aunt  re 
provingly.  "  Handsome  devil,  indeed !  He 's  a  good- 
looking  man.  Can't  you  say  that  in  a  proper  way? 
I  don't  want  you  to  be  sporty  in  your  talk,  George. 
I  always  tried  when  you  were  a  little  boy  to  keep 
you  from  talking  foolishly." 

"Oh,  there's  no  danger  of  my  being  foolish,"  he 
said.  "  I  'm  as  staid  and  dull  as  ever  you  could  wish 
me  to  be!" 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  found  him  bitter, 
but  she  had  the  sense  at  last  to  keep  silent.  His 
eyes  were  full  of  pain,  and  as  he  looked  about  the 
crowded  room  with  its  suggestions  of  indulgent  liv 
ing,  she  saw  something  in  his  face  leap  to  meet  it  — 
something  that  seemed  to  repudiate  the  ideals  she 
had  passed  on  to  him.  Involuntarily,  Anne  Denni- 
son  reached  out  her  firm  warm  hand  and  laid  it  on 
the  quivering  one  of  her  boy. 

"A  new  thought  has  just  come  to  you!"  she  said 
softly.  "Before  you  were  through  with  your  boast, 

118 


THE  PRECIPICE 

lad,  your  temptation  came.  I  saw  it.  Are  you 
lonely,  George?  Are  you  wanting  something  that 
Aunt  Anne  can  give  you?  Won't  you  speak  out  to 
me?" 

He  drew  his  hand  away  from  hers. 

"No  one  in  the  world  can  give  me  what  I  want," 
he  said  painfully.  "Forgive  me,  auntie;  and  let's 
talk  of  other  things." 

He  had  pushed  her  back  into  that  lonely  place 
where  the  old  often  must  stand,  and  she  shivered  a 
little  as  if  a  cold  wind  blew  over  her.  He  saw  it  and 
bent  toward  her  contritely. 

"You  must  help  me,"  he  said.  "I  am  very  un 
happy.  I  suppose  almost  everybody  has  been  un 
happy  like  this  sometime.  Just  bear  with  me,  Aunt 
Anne,  dear,  and  help  me  to  forget  for  an  hour  or 
two." 

Anne  Dennison  regarded  him  understandingly. 

"Here  comes  our  lobster,"  she  said,  "and  while  we 
eat  it,  I  '11  tell  you  the  story  of  the  first  time  I  ever 
ate  at  a  restaurant." 

He  nodded  gratefully.  After  all,  while  she  lived, 
he  could  not  be  utterly  bereft. 


X 

HE  had  taken  her  home  and  was  leaving,  when  a 
carriage  passed  him.  He  could  hear  the  voices  of  the 
occupants  —  the  brisk  accents  of  Mrs.  Barsaloux, 
and  the  slow,  honey-rich  tones  of  Marna.  He  had 
never  dreamed  that  he  could  do  such  a  thing,  but  he 
ran  forward  with  an  almost  frantic  desire  to  rest  his 
eyes  upon  the  girl's  face,  and  he  was  beside  the  curb 
when  the  carriage  drew  up  at  the  door  of  the  house 
where  Mrs.  Barsaloux  and  Marna  lodged.  He  flung 
open  the  door  in  spite  of  the  protests  of  the  driver, 
who  was  not  sure  of  his  right  to  offer  such  a  service, 
and  held  out  his  hand  to  Mrs.  Barsaloux.  That  lady 
accepted  his  politeness  graciously,  and,  weary  and 
abstracted,  moved  at  once  toward  the  house-steps, 
searching  meantime  for  her  key.  Fitzgerald  had  fif 
teen  seconds  alone  with  Marna.  She  stood  half- 
poised  upon  the  carriage-steps,  her  hand  in  his,  their 
eyes  almost  on  a  level.  Then  he  said  an  impossible 
and  insane  thing.  It  was  wrung  out  of  his  misery, 
out  of  his  knowledge  of  her  loveliness. 

"I've  lost  you!"  he  whispered.   "Do  you  know 
that  to-night  ended  my  happiness?" 

Mama's  lips  parted  delicately;  her  eyes  widened; 
her  swift  Celtic  spirit  encompassed  his  grief. 

"Oh!"  she  breathed.   "Don't  speak  so!  Don't 
spoil  my  beautiful  time!" 

1 20 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"Not  I,'rhe  retorted  sharply,  speaking  aloud  this 
time.  "Far  be  it  from  me!  Good-bye." 

Mrs.  Barsaloux  heard  him  vaguely  above  the  jang 
ling  of  coins  and  keys  and  the  rushing  of  a  distant 
train. 

"You're  not  going  to  leave  town,  are  you,  Dr. 
Fitzgerald?"  she  inquired  casually.  "I  thought 
your  good-bye  had  a  final  accent  to  it." 

She  was  laughing  in  her  easy  way,  quite  uncon 
scious  of  what  was  taking  place.  She  had  made  an 
art  of  laughing,  and  it  carried  her  and  others  over 
many  difficult  places.  But  for  once  it  was  power 
less  to  lessen  the  emotional  strain.  Mysteriously, 
Fitzgerald  and  Marna  were  experiencing  a  sweet 
torment  in  their  parting.  It  was  not  that  she  loved 
him  or  had  thought  of  him  in  that  way  at  all.  She 
had  seen  him  often  and  had  liked  his  hearty  ways, 
his  gay  spirits,  and  his  fine  upstanding  figure,  but  he 
had  been  as  one  who  passed  by  with  salutations. 
Now,  suddenly,  she  was  conscious  that  he  was  a 
man  to  be  desired.  She  saw  his  wistful  eyes,  his 
avid  lips,  his  great  shoulders.  The  woman  in  her 
awoke  to  a  knowledge  of  her  needs.  Upon  such  a 
shoulder  might  a  woman  weep,  from  such  eyes  might 
a  woman  gather  dreams;  to  allay  such  torment  as 
his  might  a  woman  give  all  she  had  to  give.  It  was 
incoherent,  mad,  but  not  unmeaning.  It  had,  in 
deed,  the  ultimate  meaning. 

He  said  nothing  more;  she  spoke  no  word.  Each 
knew  they  would  meet  on  the  morrow. 

121 


THE  PRECIPICE 

The  next  night,  Kate  Barrington,  making  her  way 
swiftly  down  the  Midway  in  a  misty  gloom,  saw  the 
little  figure  of  Marna  Cartan  fluttering  before  her. 
It  was  too  early  for  dinner,  and  Kate  guessed  that 
Marna  was  on  her  way  to  pay  her  a  visit  —  a  not 
rare  occurrence  these  last  few  weeks.  She  called  to 
her,  and  Marna  waited,  turning  her  face  for  a  mo 
ment  to  the  mist-bearing  wind. 

"I  was  going  to  you,"  she  said  breathlessly. 

"So  I  imagined,  bright  one." 

"Are  you  tired,  Kate,  mavourneen?" 

"A  little.  It's  been  a  hard  day.  I  don't  see  why 
my  heart  is  n't  broken,  considering  the  things  I  see 
and  hear,  Marna!  I  don't  so  much  mind  about  the 
grown-ups.  If  they  succeed  in  making  a  mess  of 
things,  why,  they  can  take  the  consequences.  But 
the  kiddies  —  they  're  the  ones  that  torment  me. 
Try  as  I  can  to  harden  myself,  and  to  say  that  after 
I  Ve  done  my  utmost  my  responsibility  ends,  I  can't 
get  them  off  my  mind.  But  what's  on  your  mind, 
bright  one?" 

"Oh,  Kate,  so  much!  But  wait  till  we  get  to  the 
house.  It's  not  a  thing  to  shriek  out  here  on  the 
street." 

The  wind  swept  around  the  corner,  buffeting 
them,  and  Kate  drew  Marna's  arm  in  her  own 
and  fairly  bore  the  little  creature  along  with  her. 
They  entered  the  silent  house,  groped  through  the 
darkened  hall  and  up  the  stairs  to  Kate's  own 
room. 

122 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"  Honora  is  n't  home,  I  fancy,"  she  said,  in  apology 
for  the  pervading  desolation.  "She  stays  late  at  the 
laboratory  these  nights.  She  says  she 's  on  the  verge 
of  a  wonderful  discovery.  It's  something  she  and 
David  have  been  working  out  together,  but  she's 
been  making  some  experiments  in  secret,  with  which 
she  means  to  surprise  David.  Of  course  she'll  give 
all  the  credit  to  him  —  that's  her  policy.  She's  his 
helpmate,  she  says,  nothing  more." 

"But  the  babies? "  asked  Marna  with  that  naive t6 
characteristic  of  her.  "Where  are  they?" 

"Up  in  the  nursery  at  the  top  of  the  house.  It  will 
be  light  and  warm  there,  I  think.  Honora  had  a  fire 
place  put  in  so  that  it  would  be  cheerful.  I  always 
feel  sure  it's  pleasant  up  there,  however  forbidding 
the  rest  of  the  house  may  look." 

"Mary  has  made  a  great  difference  with  it  since 
she  came,  has  n't  she?  Of  course  Honora  could  n't 
do  the  wonderful  things  she 's  doing  and  be  fussing 
around  the  house  all  the  time.  Still,  she  might  train 
her  servants,  might  n't  she?" 

"Well,  there  aren't  really  any  to  train,"  said 
Kate.  "There's  Mrs.  Hays,  the  nurse,  a  very  good 
woman,  but  as  we  take  our  meals  out,  and  are  all  so 
independent,  there's  no  one  else  required,  except 
occasionally.  Honora  would  n't  think  of  such  an 
extravagance  as  a  parlor  maid.  We  're  a  community 
of  working  folk,  you  see." 

Marna  had  been  lighting  the  candles  which  Kate 
usually  kept  for  company ;  and,  moreover,  since  there 

123 


THE  PRECIPICE 

was  kindling  at  hand,  she  laid  a  fire  and  touched  a 
match  to  it. 

"  I  must  have  it  look  homey,  Kate  —  for  reasons." 
"Do  whatever  it  suits  you  to  do,  child." 
"But  can  I   tell  you  what  it  suits  me  to  dor 
Kate?" 

"How  do  I  know?  Are  you  referring  to  visible 
things  or  talking  in  parables?  There's  something 
very  eerie  about  you  to-night,  Marna.  Your  eyes 
look  phosphorescent.  What's  been  happening  to 
you?  Is  it  the  glory  of  last  night  that's  over  you 
yet?" 

"No,  not  that.   It's  —  it's  a  new  glory,  Kate." 
"A  new  glory,  is  it?  Since  last  night?  Tell  me, 
then." 

Kate  flung  her  long  body  into  a  Morris  chair  and 
prepared  to  listen.  Marna  looked  about  her  as  if 
seeking  a  chair  to  satisfy  her  whim,  and,  finding  none, 
sank  upon  the  floor  before  the  blaze.  She  leaned 
back,  resting  on  one  slight  arm,  and  turned  her 
dream-haunted  face  glowing  amid  its  dark  maze  of 
hair,  till  her  eyes  could  hold  those  of  her  friend. 

"Oh,  Kate!"  she  breathed,  and  made  her  great 
confession  in  those  two  words. 

' '  A  man ! ' '  cried  Kate,  alarmed .   ' '  Now ! ' ' 
"  Now !  Last  night.  And  to-day.   It  was  like  light 
ning  out  of  a  clear  sky.  I  've  seen  him  often,  and  now 
I  remember  it  always  warmed  me  to  see  him,  and 
made  me  feel  that  I  was  n't  alone.   For  a  long  time, 

I  believe,   I've  been  counting  him  in,  and  being 

124 


THE  PRECIPICE 

happier  because  he  was  near.  But  I  did  n't  realize 
it  at  all  —  till  last  night." 

"You  saw  him  after  the' opera?" 

"Only  for  half  a  minute,  at  the  door  of  my  house. 
We  only  said  a  word  or  two.  He  whispered  he  had 
lost  me  —  that  I  had  killed  him.  Oh,  I  don't  remem 
ber  what  he  said.  But  we  looked  straight  at  each 
other.  I  did  n't  sleep  all  night,  and  when  I  lay 
awake  I  tried  to  think  of  the  wonderful  fact  that  I 
had  made  my  debut,  and  that  it  was  n't  a  failure, 
at  any  rate.  But  I  could  n't  think  about  that,  or 
about  my  career.  I  could  n't  hold  to  anything  but 
the  look  in  his  eyes  and  the  fact  that  I  was  to  see  him 
to-day.  Not  that  he  said  so.  But  we  both  knew. 
Why,  we  could  n't  have  lived  if  we  had  n't  seen  each 
other  to-day." 

"And  you  did?" 

"Oh,  we  did.  He  called  me  up  on  the  telephone 
about  two  o'clock,  and  said  he  had  waited  as  long 
as  he  could,  and  that  he'd  been  walking  the  floor, 
not  daring  to  ring  till  he  was  sure  that  I'd  rested 
enough  after  last  night.  So  I  told  him  to  come,  and 
he  must  have  been  just  around  the  corner,  for  he  was 
there  in  a  minute.  I  wanted  him  to  come  in  and  sit 
down,  but  he  said  he  did  n't  believe  a  house  could 
hold  such  audacity  as  his.  So  we  went  out  on  the 
street.  It  was  cold  and  bleak.  The  Midway  was  a 
long,  gray  blankness.  I  felt  afraid  of  it,  actually. 
All  the  world  looked  forbidding  to  me  —  except  just 
the  little  place  where  I  walked  with  him.  It  was  as 

125 


THE   PRECIPICE 

if  there  were  a  little  warm  beautiful  radius  in  which 
we  could  keep  together,  and  live  for  each  other,  and 
comfort  each  other,  and  keep  harm  away." 

"Oh,  Marna!  And  you,  with  a  career  before  you! 
What  do  you  mean  to  do?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  We  don't  either  of  us 
know  what  to  do.  He  says  he  '11  go  mad  with  me  on 
the  stage,  wearing  myself  out,  the  object  of  the  jeal 
ousy  of  other  women  and  of  love-making  from  the 
men.  He  —  says  it 's  a  profanation.  I  tried  to  tell 
him  it  could  n't  be  a  profanation  to  serve  art;  but, 
Kate,  he  did  n't  seem  to  know  what  I  meant.  He 
has  such  different  standards.  He  wanted  to  know 
what  I  was  going  to  do  when  I  was  old.  He  said  I  'd 
have  no  real  home,  and  no  haven  of  love;  and  that 
I  'd  better  be  the  queen  of  his  home  as  long  as  I  lived 
than  to  rule  it  a  little  while  there  on  the  stage  and 
then  —  be  forgotten.  Oh,  it  is  n't  what  he  said  that 
counts.  All  that  sounds  flat  enough  as  I  repeat  it. 
It's  the  wonder  of  being  with  some  one  that  loves 
you  like  that  and  of  feeling  that  there  are  two  of  you 
who  belong  — " 

"How  do  you  know  you  belong?"  asked  Kate 
with  sharp  good  sense.  "Why,  bright  one,  you've 
been  swept  off  your  feet  by  mere  —  forgive  me  — 
by  mere  sex." 

That  glint  of  the  eyes  which  Kate  called  Celtic 
flashed  from  Marna. 

"Mere  sex!"  she  repeated.  "Mere  sex!  You're 
not  trying  to  belittle  that,  are  you?  Why,  Kate, 

126 


THE  PRECIPICE 

that's  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  things.  What 
I  Ve  always  liked  about  you  is  that  you  look  big  facts 
in  the  face  and  aren't  afraid  of  truth.  Sex!  Why, 
that 's  home  and  happiness  and  all  a  woman  really 
cares  for,  is  n't  it?" 

"No,  it  isn't  all  she  cares  for,"  declared  Kate 
valiantly.  "She  cares  for  a  great  many  other  things. 
And  when  I  said  mere  sex  I  was  trying  to  put  it 
politely.  Is  it  really  home  and  lifelong  devotion 
that  you  two  are  thinking  about,  or  are  you  just 
drunk  with  youth  and  —  well,  with  infatuation?" 

Marna  turned  from  her  to  the  fire. 

41  Kate,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  know  what  you  call  it, 
but  when  I  looked  in  his  eyes  I  felt  as  if  I  had  just 
seen  the  world  for  the  first  time.  I  have  liked  to  live, 
of  course,  and  to  study,  and  it  was  tremendously 
stirring,  singing  there  before  all  those  people.  But, 
honestly,  I  can  see  it  would  lead  nowhere.  A  few 
years  of  faint  celebrity,  an  empty  heart,  a  homeless 
life  —  then  weariness.  Oh,  I  know  it.  I  have  a  trick 
of  seeing  things.  Oh,  he 's  the  man  for  me,  Kate.  I 
realized  it  the  moment  he  pointed  it  out.  We  could 
not  be  mistaken.  I  shall  love  him  forever  and  he'll 
love  me  just  as  I  love  him." 

"By  the  way,"  said  Kate,  "who  is  he?  Someone 
from  the  opera  company?" 

"Who  is  he?  Why,  he's  George  Fitzgerald,  of 
course." 

"Mrs.  Dennison's  nephew?" 

"Certainly.  Who  else  should  it  be?" 
127 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"Why,  he's  a  pleasant  enough  young  man  — 
very  cheerful  and  quite  intelligent  —  but,Marna  —  " 

Marna  leaped  to  her  feet. 

"You  're  not  in  a  position  to  pass  judgment  upon 
him,  Kate.  How  can  you  know  what  a  wonderful 
soul  he  has?  Why,  there's  no  one  so  brave,  or  so 
humble,  or  so  sweet,  or  with  such  a  worship  for 
women  —  " 

"For  you,  you  mean." 

"Of  course  I  mean  for  me.  You  don't  suppose  I  'd 
endure  it  to  have  him  worshiping  anybody  else,  do 
you?  Oh,  it's  no  use  protesting.  I  only  hope  that 
Mrs.  Barsaloux  won't." 

"Yes,  does  n't  that  give  you  pause?  Think  of  all 
Mrs.  Barsaloux  has  done  for  you;  and  she  did  it 
with  the  understanding  that  you  were  to  go  on  the 
stage.  She  was  going  to  get  her  reward  in  the  con 
tribution  you  made  to  art." 

Marna  burst  into  rippling  laughter. 

"I'll  give  her  something  better  than  art,  Kate 
Crosspatch.  I  '11  give  her  a  home  —  and  I  '11  name 
my  first  girl  after  her." 

"Marna!"  gasped  Kate.  "You  do  go  pretty  fast 
for  a  little  thing." 

"Oh,  I'm  Irish,"  laughed  Marna.  "We  Irish  are 
a  very  old  people.  We  always  knew  that  if  you 
loved  a  man,  you  had  to  have  him  or  die,  and  that 
if  you  had  him,  you'd  love  to  see  the  look  of  him 
coming  out  in  your  sons  and  daughters." 

Suddenly  the  look  of  almost  infantile  blitheness 
*  128 


THE  PRECIPICE 

left  her  face.  The  sadness  which  is  inherent  in  the 
Irish  countenance  spread  over  it,  like  sudden  mist 
over  a  landscape.  The  ancient  brooding  aspect  of 
the  Celts  was  upon  her. 

"Yes,"  she  repeated,  "we  Irish  are  very  old,  and 
there  is  nothing  about  life  —  or  death  —  that  we  du 
not  know." 

Kate  was  not  quite  sure  what  she  meant,  but  with 
a  sudden  impulse  she  held  out  her  arms  to  the  girl, 
who,  with  a  low  cry,  fled  to  them.  Then  her  bright 
bravery  melted  in  a  torrent  of  tears. 


XI 

THEY  had  met  like  flame  and  wind.  It  was  irra 
tional  and  wonderful  and  conclusive.  But  after  all, 
it  might  not  have  come  to  quite  so  swift  a  climax  if 
Marna,  following  Kate's  advice,  had  not  confided 
the  whole  thing  to  Mrs.  Barsaloux. 

Now,  Mrs.  Barsaloux  was  a  kind  woman,  and  one 
with  plenty  of  sentiment  in  her  composition.  But 
she  believed  that  there  were  times  when  Love  should 
not  be  given  the  lead.  Naturally,  it  seemed  to  her 
that  this  was  one  of  them.  She  had  spent  much 
money  upon  the  education  of  this  girl  whom  she  had 
"assumed,"  as  Marna  sometimes  playfully  put  it. 
Nothing  but  her  large,  active,  and  perhaps  inter 
fering  benevolence  and  Mama's  winning  and  inex 
plicable  charm  held  the  two  together,  and  the  very 
slightness  of  their  relationship  placed  them  under 
peculiar  obligations  to  each  other. 

"It's  ungrateful  of  you,"  Mrs.  Barsaloux  ex 
plained,  "manifestly  ungrateful!  It's  your  r61e  to 
love  nothing  but  your  career."  She  was  not  stern, 
merely  argumentative. 

"But  didn't  you  expect  me  ever  to  love  any 
one?"  queried  Marna. 

Mrs.  Barsaloux  contemplated  a  face  and  figure 
made  for  love  from  the  beginning,  and  delicately 
ripened  for  it,  like  a  peach  in  the  sun. 

130 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"  But  you  could  have  waited,  my  dear  girl.  There's 
time  for  both  the  love  and  the  career." 

Marna  shook  her  head  slowly. 

"George  says  there  is  n't,"  she  answered  with  an 
irritating  sweetness.  "  He  says  I  'm  not  to  go  on  the 
stage  at  all.  He  says  - 

"Don't  'he  says'  me  like  that,  Marna,"  cried  her 
friend.  "It  sounds  too  unutterably  silly.  Here  you 
are  with  a  beautiful  talent  —  every  one  agrees  about 
that  —  and  a  chance  to  develop  it.  I  Ve  made  many 
sacrifices  to  give  you  that  chance.  Very  well ;  you  Ve 
had  your  trial  before  the  public.  You've  made 
good.  You  could  repay  yourself  and  me  for  all  that 
has  been  involved  in  your  development,  and  you 
meet  a  man  and  come  smiling  to  me  and  say  that 
we're  to  throw  the  whole  thing  over  because  'he 
says'  to." 

Marna  made  no  answer  at  all,  but  Mrs.  Barsa- 
loux  saw  her  settle  down  in  the  deep  chair  in  which 
she  was  sitting  as  if  to  huddle  away  from  the  storm 
about  to  break  over  her. 

"She  is  n't  going  to  offer  any  resistance,"  thought 
the  distressed  patron  with  dismay.  "Her  mind  is 
completely  made  up  and  she's  just  crouching  down 
to  wait  till  I'm  through  with  my  private  little 
hurricane." 

So,  indeed,  it  proved.  Mrs.  Barsaloux  felt  she  had 
the  right  to  say  much,  and  she  said  it.  Marna  may 
or  may  not  have  listened.  She  sat  shivering  and 
smiling  in  her  chair,  and  when  it  was  fit  for  her  to 


THE   PRECIPICE 

excuse  herself,  she  did,  and  walked  out  bravely;  but 
Mrs.  Barsaloux  noticed  that  she  tottered  a  little  as 
she  reached  the  door.  She  did  not  go  to  her  aid, 
however. 

"It's  an  infatuation,"  she  concluded.  "I  must 
treat  her  as  if  she  had  a  violent  disease  and  take  care 
of  her.  When  people  are  delirious  they  must  be  pro 
tected  against  themselves.  It's  a  delirium  with  her, 
and  the  best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  run  off  to  New  York 
with  her.  She  can  make  her  next  appearance  when 
the  opera  company  gets  there.  I'll  arrange  it  this 
afternoon." 

She  refrained  from  telling  Marna  of  her  plans,  but 
she  went  straight  to  the  city  and  talked  over  the  sit 
uation  with  her  friend  the  impresario.  He  seemed 
anything  but  depressed.  On  the  contrary,  he  was 
excited  —  even  exalted. 

"Spirit  her  away,  madam,"  he  advised.  "Of 
course  she  will  miss  her  lover  horribly,  and  that  will 
be  the  best  thing  that  can  happen  to  her.  Why  did 
not  the  public  rise  to  her  the  other  night?  Not  be 
cause  she  could  not  sing:  far  from  it.  If  a  nightin 
gale  sings,  then  Miss  Cartan  does.  But  she  left  her 
audience  a  little  cold.  Let  us  face  the  facts.  You 
saw  it.  We  all  saw  it.  And  why?  Because  she  was 
too  happy,  madam;  too  complaisant;  too  unin- 
structed  in  the  emotions.  Now  it  will  be  different. 
We  will  take  her  away;  we  will  be  patient  with  her 
while  she  suffers ;  afterward  she  will  bless  us,  for  she 
will  have  discovered  the  secret  of  the  artist,  and  then 

132 


THE   PRECIPICE 

when  she  opens  her  little  silver  throat  we  shall  have 
.PNG." 

Mrs.  Barsaloux,  with  many  compunctions,  and 
with  some  pangs  of  pure  motherly  sympathy,  never 
theless  agreed. 

"If  only  he  had  been  a  man  above  the  average," 
she  said,  as  she  tearfully  parted  from  the  great  man, 
"perhaps  it  would  not  have  mattered  so  much." 

The  impresario  lifted  his  eyebrows  and  his  mus 
taches  at  the  same  time  and  assumed  the  aspect  of  a 
benevolent  Mephistopheles. 

i  "The  variety  of  man,  madam,"  he  said  senten- 
tiously,  "makes  no  manner  of  difference.  It  is  the 
tumult  in  Miss  Mania's  soul  which  I  hope  we  shall 
be  able  to  utilize"  —  he  interrupted  himself  with  a 
smile  and  a  bow  as  he  opened  the  door  for  his  de 
parting  friend  —  "for  the  purposes  of  art." 

Mrs.  Barsaloux  sat  in  the  middle  of  her  taxi  seat 
all  the  way  home,  and  saw  neither  street,  edifice, 
nor  human  being.  She  was  looking  back  into  her 
own  busy,  confused,  and  frustrated  life,  and  was 
remembering  certain  things  which  she  had  believed 
were  buried  deep.  Her  heart  misgave  her  horribly. 
Yet  to  hand  over  this  bright  singing  bird,  so  exquis 
ite,  so  rare,  so  fitted  for  purposes  of  exposition,  to  the 
keeping  of  a  mere  male  being  of  unfortunate  con 
tiguity,  to  permit  him  to  carry  her  into  the  seclusion 
of  an  ordinary  home  to  wait  on  him  and  regulate  her 
life  according  to  his  whim,  was  really  too  fantastic 
for  consideration.  So  she  put  her  memories  and  her 

133 


THE   PRECIPICE 

tendernesses  out  of  sight  and  walked  up  the  stairs 
with  purpose  in  her  tread. 

She  meant  to  "have  it  out "  with  the  girl,  who  was, 
she  believed,  reasonable  enough  after  all. 

"She's  been  without  her  mother  for  so  long,"  she 
mused,  "that  it's  no  wonder  she's  lacking  in  self- 
control.  I  must  have  the  firmness  that  a  mother 
would  have  toward  her.  It  would  be  the  height  of 
cruelty  to  let  her  have  her  own  way  in  this." 

If  the  two  could  have  met  at  that  moment,  it 
would  have  changed  the  course  of  both  their  lives. 
But  a  trifle  had  intervened.  Marna  Cartan  had 
gone  walking;  and  she  never  came  back.  Only,  the 
next  day,  radiantly  beautiful,  with  fresh  flowers  in 
her  hands,  Marna  Fitzgerald  came  running  in  beg 
ging  to  be  forgiven.  She  tried  to  carry  the  situation 
with  her  impetuosity.  She  was  laughing,  crying, 
pleading.  She  got  close  to  her  old  friend  as  if  she 
would  enwrap  her  in  her  influence.  She  had  the 
veritable  aspect  of  the  bride.  Whatever  others 
might  think  regarding  her  lost  career,  it  was  evident 
that  she  believed  the  great  hour  had  just  struck  for 
her.  Her  husband  was  with  her. 

"Haven't  you  any  apology  to  make,  sir?"  poor 
Mrs.  Barsaloux  cried  to  him.  He  looked  matter-of- 
fact,  she  thought,  and  as  if  he  ought  to  be  able  to 
take  a  reasonable  view  of  things.  But  she  had  mis 
judged.  Perhaps  it  was  his  plain,  everyday,  com 
mercial  garments  which  deceived  her  and  made  her 

134 


THE  PRECIPICE 

think  him  open  to  week-day  arguments ;  for  at  that 
moment  he  was  really  a  knight  of  romance,  and  at 
Mrs.  Barsaloux's  question  his  eyes  gleamed  with  un 
suspected  fires. 

"Who  could  be  so  foolish  as  to  apologize  for  hap 
piness  like  ours?"  he  demanded. 

"Are  n't  you  going  to  forgive  us,  dear?"  pleaded 
Marna. 

But  Mrs.  Barsaloux  could  n't  quite  stand  that. 

"You  sound  like  an  old  English  comedy,  Marna," 
she  said  impatiently.  "You're  of  age;  I'm  no  rela 
tion  to  you;  you've  a  perfect  right  to  be  married. 
Better  take  advantage  of  being  here  to  pack  your 
things.  You'll  need  them." 

"You  mean  that  I'm  not  expected  to  come  here 
again,  tante?" 

"  I  shall  sail  for  France  in  a  week,"  said  Mrs.  Bar 
saloux  wearily. 

"For  France,  tante?  When  did  you  decide?" 

"This  minute,"  said  the  lady,  and  gave  the  mar 
ried  lovers  to  understand  that  the  interview  was  at 
an  end. 

Marna  went  weeping  down  the  street,  holding  on 
to  her  George's  arm. 

"If  she'd  been  Irish,  she'd  have  cursed  me,"  she 
sobbed,  "and  then  I  'd  have  had  something  to  go  on, 
so  to  speak.  Perhaps  I  could  have  got  her  to  take  it 
off  me  in  time.  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  with 
a  snubbing  like  that?" 

"Oh,  leave  it  for  the  Arctic  explorers  to  explain. 
135 


THE   PRECIPICE 

They're  used  to  being  in  below-zero  temperature," 
George  said  with  a  troubled  laugh.    "I'm  sure  I 
can't  waste  any  time  thinking  about  a  woman  who 
could  stand  out  against  you,  Marna,  the  way  yor 
are  this  day,  and  the  way  you're  looking." 
"But,  George,  she  thinks  I'm  a  monster." 
"Then  there's  something  wrong  with  her  zoSlogy. 
You  're  an—  " 

"Don't  call  me  an  angel,  dear,  whatever  you  do! 
There  are  some  things  I  hate  to  be  called  —  they  're 
so  insipid.  If  any  one  called  me  an  angel  I  'd  know 
he  did  n't  appreciate  me.  Come,  let's  go  to  Kate's. 
She  's  my  court  of  last  appeal.  If  Kate  can't  forgive 
me,  I'll  know  I've  done  wrong." 

Kate  was  never  to  forget  that  night.  She  had 
come  in  from  a  day  of  difficult  and  sordid  work.  For 
once,  the  purpose  back  of  all  her  toil  among  the  peo 
ple  there  in  the  great  mill  town  was  lost  sight  of  in 
the  sheer  repulsiveness  of  the  tasks  she  had  had  to 
perform.  The  pathos  of  their  temptations,  the  ter 
rific  disadvantages  under  which  they  labored,  their 
gray  tragedies,  had  some  way  lost  their  import.  She 
was  merely  a  dreadfully  fagged  woman,  disgusted 
with  evil,  with  dirt  and  poverty.  She  was  at  outs 
with  her  world  and  impatient  with  the  suffering  in' 
volved  in  the  mere  living  of  life. 

Moreover,  when  she  had  come  into  the  house, 
she  had  found  it  dark  as  usual.  The  furnace  was 
down,  and  her  own  room  was  cold.  But  she  had  set 

136 


THE   PRECIPICE 

her  teeth  together,  determined  not  to  give  way  to 
depression,  and  had  made  her  rather  severe  toilet 
for  dinner  when  word  was  brought  to  her  by  the 
children's  nurse  that  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  desired 
to  see  her.  For  a  moment  she  could  not  comprehend 
what  that  might  mean;  then  the  truth  assailed  her, 
took  her  by  the  hand,  and  ran  her  down  the  stairs 
into  Mama's  arms. 

"But  it's  outrageous,"  she  cried,  hugging  Marna 
to  her.  "How  could  you  be  so  willful?" 

"It's  glorious,"  retorted  Marna.  "And  if  I  ever 
was  going  to  be  willful,  now's  the  time." 

"Right  you  are,"  broke  in  George.  "What  does 
Stevenson  say  about  that?  'Youth  is  the  time  to  be 
up  and  doing.'  You're  not  going  to  be  severe  with 
us,  Miss  Barrington?  We've  been  counting  on  you." 

"Have  you?"  inquired  Kate,  putting  Marna 
aside  and  taking  her  husband  by  the  hand.  "Well, 
you  are  your  own  justification,  you  two.  But  have  n't 
you  been  ungrateful?" 

Marna  startled  her  by  a  bit  of  Dionysian  philo 
sophy. 

"Is  it  ungrateful  to  be  happy?"  she  demanded. 
"Would  anybody  have  been  in  the  right  who  asked 
us  to  be  unhappy?  Why  don't  you  call  us  brave? 
Do  you  imagine  it  is  n't  difficult  to  have  people  we 
love  disapproving  of  us?  But  you  know  yourself, 
Kate,  if  we'd  waited  forty-eight  hours,  I'd  have 
been  dragged  off  to  live  with  my  career." 

She  laughed  brightly,  sinking  back  in  her  chair 
137 


THE   PRECIPICE 

and  throwing  wide  her  coat.  Kate  looked  at  her 
appraisingly,  and  warmed  in  the  doing  of  it. 

"You  don't  look  as  if  you  were  devoted  to  a 
career,  she  admitted. 

"Oh,"  sighed  Fitzgerald,  "I*  only  just  barely  got 
her  in  time!" 

"And  now  what  do  you  propose  doing?" 

"Why,  to-morrow  we  shall  look  for  a  place  to  live 
—  for  a  home." 

"Do  you  mean  a  flat?"  asked  Kate  with  a  flick 
of  satire. 

"A  flat,  or  anything.  It  doesn't  matter  much 
what." 

"Or  where?" 

"It  will  be  on  the  West  Side,"  said  the  matter-of- 
fact  Fitzgerald. 

"And  who'll  keep  house  for  you?  Must  you  find 
servants?" 

"Why,  Kate,  we're  dreadfully  poor,"  cried  Marna 
excitedly,  as  if  poverty  were  a  mere  adventure. 
"  Did  n't  you  know  that?  I  shall  do  my  own  work." 

"Oh,  we've  both  got  to  work,"  added  Fitzgerald. 

He  did  n't  say  he  was  sorry  Marna  had  to  slave 
with  her  little  white  hands,  or  that  he  realized  that 
he  was  doing  a  bold  —  perhaps  an  impious  —  thing 
in  snatching  a  woman  from  her  service  to  art  to  go 
into  service  for  him.  Evidently  he  did  n't  think  that 
way.  Neither  minded  any  sacrifice  apparently.  The 
whole  of  it  was,  they  were  together.  Suddenly,  they 
seemed  to  forget  Kate.  They  stood  gazing  at  each 

138 


THE  PRECIPICE 

other  as  if  their  sense  of  possession  overwhelmed 
them.  Kate  felt  something  like  angry  resentment 
stir  in  her.  How  dared  they,  when  she  was  so  alone, 
so  weary,  so  homeless? 

"Will  you  stay  to  dinner  with  me?"  she  asked 
with  something  like  asperity. 

"To  dinner?"  they  murmured  in  vague  chorus. 
"No,  thanks." 

"But  where  do  you  intend  to  have  dinner?" 

"We  —  we  haven't  thought,"  confessed  Marna. 

"Oh,  anywhere,"  declared  Fitzgerald. 

Marna  rose  and  her  husband  buttoned  her  coat 
about  her. 

They  smiled  at  Kate  seraphically,  and  she  saw 
that  they  wanted  to  be  alone,  and  that  it  made  little 
difference  to  them  whether  they  were  sitting  in  a 
warm  room  or  walking  the  windy  streets.  She  kissed 
them  both,  with  tears,  and  said :  — 

"God  bless  you." 

That  seemed  to  be  what  they  wanted.  They  longed 
to  be  blessed. 

"That's  what  Aunt  Dennison  said,"  smiled 
Fitzgerald. 

Then  Kate  realized  that  now  the  exotic  Marna 
would  be  calling  the  completely  domesticated  Mrs. 
Dennison  "aunt."  But  Marna  looked  as  if  she  liked 
that,  too.  It  was  their  hour  for  liking  everything. 
As  Kate  opened  the  outer  door  for  them,  the  blast 
struck  through  her,  but  the  lovers,  laughing,  ran 
down  the  stairs  together.  They  were,  in  their  way, 

139 


THE   PRECIPICE 

outcasts;  they  were' poor;  the  future  might " hold 
bitter  disillusion.  But  now,  borne  by  the  sharp 
wind,  their  laughter  drifted  back  like  a  song.  I 

Kate  wrapped  her  old  coat  about  her  and  made 
her  solitary  way  to  Mrs.  Dennison's  depressed 
Caravansary. 


XII 

THERE  was  no  question  about  it.  Life  was  supply 
ing  Kate  Barrington  with  a  valuable    amount  of 

•  l"  data."     On  every  hand  the  emergent  or  the  re- 
i  ikctionary  woman  offered  herself  for  observation, 
although  to  say  that  Kate  was  able  to  take  a  de 
tached  and  objective  view  of  it  would  be  going  al- 

.  together  too  far.    The  truth  was,  she  threw  herself 
into  every  friend's  trouble,   and  she  counted  as 

'  friends  all  who  turned  to  her,  or  all  whom  she  was 
,called  upon  to  serve. 

A  fortnight  after  Mama's  marriage,  an  interest 
ing  episode  came  Kate's  way.  Mrs.  Barsaloux  had 
introduced  to  the  Caravansary  a  Mrs.  Leger  whom 
she  had  once  met  on  the  steamer  on  her  way  to  Brin- 
disi,  and  she  had  invited  her  to  join  her  during  a 
stay  in  Chicago.  Mrs.  Barsaloux,  however,  having 
gone  off  to  France  in  a  hot  fit  of  indignation,  Mrs. 
Leger  presented  herself  with  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Bar 
saloux  to  Mrs.  Dennison.  That  hospitable  woman 
consented  to  take  in  the  somewhat  enigmatic 
stranger. 

That  she  was  enigmatic  all  were  quick  to  perceive. 
She  was  beautiful,  with  a  delicate,  high-bred  grace, 
and  she  had  the  manner  of  a  woman  who  had  been 
courted  and  flattered.  As  consciously  beautiful  as 
Mary  Morrison,  she  bore  herself  with  more  discre- 

141 


THE  PRECIPICE 

tion.  Taste  governed  all  that  she  said  and  did.  Her 
gowns,  her  jewels,  her  speech  were  distinguished. 
She  seemed  by  all  tokens  an  accomplished  world 
ling;  yet  it  was  not  long  before  Kate  discovered 
that  it  was  anything  but  worldly  matters  which 
were  consuming  her  attention. 

She  had  come  to  Chicago  for  the  purpose  of  ad 
justing  her  fortune,  —  a  large  one,  it  appeared,  — 
and  of  concluding  her  relations  with  the  world.  She 
had  decided  to  go  into  a  convent,  and  had  chosen 
one  of  those  numerous  sisterhoods  which  pass  their 
devotional  days  upon  the  bright  hill-slopes  without 
Naples.  She  refrained  from  designating  the  particu 
lar  sisterhood,  and  she  permitted  no  discussion  of  her 
motives.  She  only  said  that  she  had  not  been  born 
a  Catholic,  but  had  turned  to  Mother  Church  when 
the  other  details  of  life  ceased  to  interest  her.  She 
was  a  widow,  but  she  seemed  to  regard  her  estate 
with  quiet  regret  merely.  If  tragedy  had  entered  her 
life,  it  must  have  been  subsequent  to  widowhood. 
She  had  a  son,  but  it  appeared  that  he  had  no  great 
need  of  her.  He  was  in  the  care  of  his  paternal  grand 
parents,  who  were  giving  him  an  education.  He  was 
soon  to  enter  Oxford,  and  she  felt  confident  that  his 
life  would  be  happy.  She  was  leaving  him  an  abun 
dance;  she  had  halved  her  fortune  and  was  giving 
her  share  to  the  convent. 

If  she  had  not  been  so  exquisite,  so  skilled  in  the 
nuances  of  life,  so  swift  and  elusive  in  conversation, 
so  well  fitted  for  the  finest  forms  of  enjoyment,  her 

142 


THE   PRECIPICE 

renunciation  of  liberty  would  not  have  proved  so 
exasperating  to  Kate.  A  youthful  enthusiasm  for 
religion  might  have  made  her  step  understandable. 
But  enthusiasm  and  she  seemed  far  apart.  Intelli 
gent  as  she  unquestionably  was,  she  nevertheless 
seemed  to  have  given  herself  over  supinely  to  a  cur 
rent  of  emotions  which  was  sweeping  her  along. 
She  looked  both  pious  and  piteous,  for  all  of  her 
sophisticated  manner  and  her  accomplishments  and 
graces,  and  Kate  felt  like  throwing  a  rope  to  her. 
But  Mrs.  Leger  was  not  in  a  mood  to  seize  the  rope. 
She  had  her  curiously  gentle  mind  quite  made  up. 
Though  she  was  still  young,  —  not  quite  eighteen 
years  older  than  her  son,  —  she  appeared  to  have  no 
further  concern  for  life.  To  the  last,  she  was  indulg 
ing  in  her  delicate  vanities  —  wore  her  pearls,  walked 
in  charming  foot-gear,  trailed  after  her  the  fascin 
ating  gowns  of  the  initiate,  and  viewed  with  delight 
the  portfolios  of  etchings  which  Dr.  von  Shierbrand 
chanced  to  be  purchasing. 

She  was  glad,  she  said,  to  be  at  the  Caravansary, 
quite  on  a  different  side  of  the  city  from  her  friends. 
She  made  no  attempt  to  renew  old  acquaintances  or 
to  say  farewell  to  her  former  associates.  Her  extrav 
agant  home  on  the  Lake  Shore  Drive  was  passed 
over  to  a  self-congratulatory  purchaser;  the  furnish 
ings  were  sold  at  auction;  and  her  other  properties 
were  disposed  of  in  such  a  manner  as  to  make  the 
transfer  of  her  wealth  convenient  for  the  recipients. 

She  asked  Kate  to  go  to  the  station  with  her. 
143 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"  I  Ve  given  you  my  one  last  friendship,"  she  said. 
"I  shall  speak  with  no  one  on  the  steamer.  My 
journey  must  be  spent  in  preparation  for  my  great 
change.  But  it  seems  human  and  warm  to  have  you 
see  me  off." 

"It  seems  inhuman  to  me,  Mrs.  Leger,"  Kate 
cried  explosively.  "Something  terrible  has  hap 
pened  to  you,  I  suppose,  and  you're  hiding  away 
from  it.  You  think  you're  going  to  drug  yourself 
with  prayer.  But  can  you?  It  does  n't  seem  at 
all  probable  to  me.  Dear  Mrs.  Leger,  be  brave 
and  stay  out  in  the  world  with  the  other  living 
people." 

"You  are  talking  of  something  which  you  do  not 
understand,"  said  Mrs.  Leger  gently.  "There  is  a 
secret  manna  for  the  soul  of  which  the  chosen  may 
eat." 

"Oh!"  cried  Kate,  almost  angrily.  "Are  these 
your  own  words?  I  cannot  understand  a  preposses 
sion  like  this  on  your  part.  It  does  n't  seem  to  set 
well  on  you.  Is  n't  there  some  hideous  mistake? 
Are  n't  you  under  the  influence  of  some  emotional 
episode?  Might  it  not  be  that  you  were  ill  without 
realizing  it?  Perhaps  you  are  suffering  from  some 
hidden  melancholy,  and  it  is  impelling  you  to  do 
something  out  of  keeping  with  the  time  and  with 
your  own  disposition." 

"  I  can  see  how  it  might  appear  that  way  to  you, 
Miss  Barrington.  But  I  am  not  ill,  except  in  my 
soul,  which  I  expect  to  be  healed  in  the  place  to 

144 


THE   PRECIPICE 

which  I  am  going.  Try  to  understand  that  among 
the  many  kinds  of  human  beings  in  this  world  there 
are  the  mystics.  They  have  a  right  to  their  being 
and  to  their  belief.  Their  joys  and  sorrows  are 
different  from  those  of  others,  but  they  are  just  as 
existent.  Please  do  not  worry  about  me." 

"But  you  understand  so  well  how  to  handle  the 
material  things  in  the  world,"  protested  Kate. 
"You  seem  so  appreciative  and  so  competent.  If 
you  have  learned  so  much,  what  is  the  sense  of  shut 
ting  it  all  up  in  a  cell?" 

"Did  you  never  read  of  Purun  Bhagat,"  asked 
Mrs.  Leger  smilingly,  "who  was  rich  with  the  riches 
of  a  king;  who  was  wise  with  the  learning  of  Calcutta 
and  of  Oxford ;  who  could  have  held  as  high  an  office 
as  any  that  the  Government  of  England  could  have 
given  him  in  India,  and  who  took  his  beggar's  bowl 
and  sat  upon  a  cavern's  rim  and  contemplated  the 
secret  soul  of  things?  You  know  your  Kipling.  I 
have  not  such  riches  or  such  wisdom,  but  I  have  the 
longing  upon  me  to  go  into  silence." 

The  lips  from  which  these  words  fell  were  both 
tender  and  ardent ;  the  little  gesticulating  hands  were 
clad  in  modish,  mouse-colored  suede;  orris  root 
mixed  with  some  faint,  haunting  odor,  barely  ca 
ressed  the  air  with  perfume.  Kate  looked  at  her 
companion  in  despair. 

"  I  must  be  an  outer  barbarian ! "  she  cried.  "  I  can 
imagine  religious  ecstasy,  but  you  are  not  ecstatic. 
I  can  imagine  turning  to  a  convent  as  a  place  of 

145 


THE   PRECIPICE 

hiding  from  shame  or  despair.  But  you  are  not  going 
into  it  that  way.  As  for  wishing  to  worship,  I  under 
stand  that  perfectly.  Prayer  is  a  sort  of  instinct  with 
me,  and  all  the  reasoning  in  the  world  could  n't 
make  me  cast  myself  out  of  communion  with  the 
unknown  something  roundabout  me  that  seems  to 
answer  me.  But  what  you  are  doing  seems,  as  I  said, 
so  obsolete." 

"I  am  looking  forward  to  it,"  said  Mrs.  Leger, 
"as  eagerly  as  a  girl  looks  forward  to  her  marriage. 
It  is  a  beautiful  romance  to  me.  It  is  the  completely 
beautiful  thing  that  is  going  to  make  up  to  me  for 
all  the  ugliness  I  have  encountered  in  life." 

For  the  first  time  a  look  of  passion  disturbed  the 
serenity  of  the  high-bred,  conventional  face. 
j    Kate  threw  out  her  hands  with  a  repudiating 
gesture. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "in  the  midst  of  my  freedom  I 
shall  think  of  you  often  and  wonder  if  you  have 
found  something  that  I  have  missed.  You  are  leaving 
the  world,  and  books,  and  friends,  and  your  son  for 
some  pale  white  idea.  It  seems  to  me  you  are  going 
to  the  embrace  of  a  wraith." 

Mrs.  Leger  smiled  slowly,  and  it  was  as  if  a 
lamp  showed  for  a  moment  in  a  darkened  house  and 
then  mysteriously  vanished. 

"Believe  me,"  she  reiterated,  "you  do  not  under 
stand." 

Kate  helped  her  on  the  train,  and  left  her  sur 
rounded  by  her  fashionable  bags,  her  flowers,  fruit, 

146 


THE   PRECIPICE 

and  literature.  She  took  these  things  as  a  matter  of 
course.  She  had  looked  at  her  smart  little  boots  as 
she  adjusted  them  on  a  hassock  and  had  smiled  at 
Kate  almost  teasingly. 

"  In  a  month,"  she  said,  "  I  shall  be  walking  with 
bared  feet,  or,  if  the  weather  demands,  in  sandals. 
I  shall  wear  a  rope  about  my  waist  over  my  brown 
robe.  My  hair  will  be  cut,  my  head  coiffed.  When 
you  are  thinking  of  me,  think  of  me  as  I  really 
shall  be." 

"So  many  things  are  going  to  happen  that  you  will 
not  see!"  cried  Kate.  "Why,  maybe  in  a  little  while 
we  shall  all  be  going  up  in  flying-machines!  You 
would  n't  like  to  miss  that,  would  you?  Or  your  son 
will  be  growing  into  a  fine  man  and  you  '11  not  see 
him  —  nor  the  woman  he  marries  —  nor  his  chil 
dren."  She  stopped,  breathing  hard. 

"It  is  like  the  sound  of  the  surf  on  a  distant 
shore,"  smiled  Mrs.  Leger.  "Good-bye,  Miss  Bar- 
rington.  Don't  grieve  about  me.  I  shall  be  happier 
than  you  can  know  or  dream." 

The  conductor  swung  Kate  off  the  train  after  it 
was  in  motion. 

So,  among  other  things,  she  had  that  to  think  of. 
She  could  explain  it  all  merely  upon  the  hypothesis 
that  the  sound  of  the  awakening  trumpets  —  the 
trumpets  which  were  arousing  woman  from  her  long 
torpor  —  had  not  reached  the  place  where  this 
wistful  woman  dwelt,  with  her  tender  remorses, 

147 


THE   PRECIPICE 

her  delicate  aversions,  her  hunger  for  the  indefinite 
consolations  of  religion. 

I  Moreover,  she  was  beginning  to  understand  that 
not  all  women  were  maternal.  She  had,  indeed, 
come  across  many  incidents  in  her  work  which  em 
phasized  this.  Good  mothers  were  quite  as  rare  as 
good  fathers;  and  it  was  her  growing  belief  that 
more  than  half  of  the  parents  in  the  world  were  un 
deserving  of  the  children  born  to  them.  Also,  she 
realized  that  a  child  might  be  born  of  the  body  and 
not  of  the  spirit,  and  a  mother  might  minister  well 
to  a  child's  corporeal  part  without  once  ministering 
to  its  soul.  It  was  possible  that  there  never  had  been 
any  bond  save  a  physical  one  between  Mrs.  Leger 
and  her  son.  Perhaps  they  looked  at  each  other 
with  strange,  uncomprehending  eyes.  That,  she 
could  imagine,  would  be  a  tantalization  from  which 
a  sensitive  woman  might  well  wish  to  escape.  It  was 
within  the  realm  of  possibility  that  he  was  happier 
with  his  grandmother  than  with  his  mother.  There 
might  be  temperamental  as  well  as  physical  "  throw- 
backs." 

Kate  remembered  a  scene  she  once  had  witnessed 
at  a  railway  station.  Two  meagre,  hard-faced,  work- 
worn  women  were  superintending  the  removal  of  a 
pine-covered  coffin  from  one  train  to  another,  and 
as  the  grim  box  was  wheeled  the  length  of  a  long  plat 
form,  a  little  boy,  wild-eyed,  gold-haired,  and  set 
apart  from  all  the  throng  by  a  tragic  misery,  ran 
after  the  truck  calling  in  anguish :  — 

148 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"Grandmother!  Grandmother!  Don't  leave  me! 
I  'm  so  lonesome,  grandmother !  I  'm  so  afraid ! " 

"Stop  your  noise,"  commanded  the  woman  who 
must  have  been  his  mother.  "Don't  you  know  she 
can't  hear  you?" 

"Oh,  maybe  she  can!  Maybe  she  can,"  sobbed  the 
boy.  "Oh,  grandmother,  don't  you  hear  me  calling? 
There's  nobody  left  for  me  now." 

The  woman  caught  him  sharply  by  the  arm. 

"I'm  left,  Jimmy.  What  makes  you  say  such  a 
thing  as  that?  Stay  with  mother,  that's  a  good  boy." 

They  were  lifting  the  box  into  the  baggage-car. 
The  boy  saw  it.  He  straightened  himself  in  the  man 
ner  of  one  who  tries  to  endure  a  mortal  wound. 

"She's  gone,"  he  said.  He  looked  at  his  mother 
once,  as  if  measuring  her  value  to  him.  Then  he 
turned  away.  There  was  no  comfort  for  him  there. 

Often,  since,  Kate  had  wondered  concerning  the 
child.  She  had  imagined  his  grim  home,  his  barren 
days;  the  plain  food;  the  compulsory  task;  the  kind, 
yet  heavy-handed,  coarse- voiced  mother.  She  was 
convinced  that  the  grandmother  had  been  different. 
In  the  corner  where  she  had  sat,  there  must  have 
been  warmth  and  welcome  for  the  child.  Perhaps 
there  were  mellow  old  tales,  sweet  old  songs,  soft 
strokings  of  the  head,  smuggled  sweets  —  all  the 
beautiful  grandmotherly  delights. 


XIII 

SINCE  Kate  had  begun  to  write,  a  hundred  —  a 
thousand  —  half-forgotten  experiences  had  come 
back  to  her.  As  they  returned  to  her  memory,  they 
acquired  significance.  They  related  themselves  with 
other  incidents  or  with  opinions.  They  illustrated 
life,  and  however  negligible  in  themselves,  they  at 
tained  a  value  because  of  their  relation  to  the  whole. 

It  was  seldom  that  she  felt  lonely  now.  Her  newly 
acquired  power  of  self-expression  seemed  to  ex 
tend  and  supplement  her  personality.  August  von 
Shierbrand  had  said  that  he  wished  to  marry  her 
because  she  completed  him.  It  had  occurred  to  her 
at  the  time  —  though  she  suppressed  her  inclination 
to  say  so  —  that  she  was  born  for  other  purposes 
than  completing  him,  or  indeed  anybody.  She  wished 
to  think  of  herself  as  an  individual,  not  as  an  adden 
dum.  But,  after  all,  she  had  sympathized  with  the 
man.  She  was  beginning  to  understand  that  that 
"solitude  of  the  soul,"  which  one  of  her  acquaint 
ances,  a  sculptor,  had  put  into  passionate  marble, 
was  caused  from  that  sense  of  incompletion.  It  was 
not  alone  that  others  failed  one  —  it  was  self-failure, 
secret  shame,  all  the  inevitable  reticences,  which 
contributed  most  to  that. 

She  fell  into  the  way  of  examining  the  men  and 
women  about  her  and  of  asking :  — 

150 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"Is  he  satisfied?  Is  she  companioned?  Has  this 
one  realized  himself?  Is  that  one  really  living?" 

She  remembered  one  person  —  one  only  —  who 
had  given  her  the  impression  of  abounding  physical, 
mental,  and  spiritual  life.  True,  she  had  seen  him 
but  a  moment  —  one  swift,  absurd,  curiously  haunt 
ing  moment.  That  was  Karl  Wander,  Honora's 
cousin,  and  the  cousin  of  Mary  Morrison.  They  were 
the  children  of  three  sisters,  and  from  what  Kate 
knew  of  their  descendants'  natures,  she  felt  these 
sisters  must  have  been  palpitating  creatures. 

Yes,  Karl  Wander  had  seemed  complete — a  happy 
man,  seething  with  plans,  a  wise  man  who  took  life 
as  it  came;  a  man  of  local  qualities  yet  of  cosmopoli 
tan  spirit  —  one  who  would  not  have  fretted  at  his 
environment  or  counted  it  of  much  consequence, 
whatever  it  might  have  been. 

If  she  could  have  known  him  — 

But  Honora  seldom  spoke  of  him.  Only  sometimes 
she  read  a  brief  note  from  him,  and  added :  — 

"He  wishes  to  be  remembered  to  you,  Kate." 

She  did  not  hint:  "He  saw  you  only  a  second." 
Honora  was  not  one  of  those  persons  who  take  pleas 
ure  in  pricking  bubbles.  She  perceived  the  beauty 
of  iridescence.  If  her  odd  friend  and  her  inexplicable 
cousin  had  any  satisfaction  in  remembering  a  pass 
ing  encounter,  they  could  have  their  pleasure  of  it. 

Kate,  for  her  part,  would  not  have  confessed  that 
she  thought  of  him.  But,  curiously,  she  sometimes 
dreamed  of  him. 


THE  PRECIPICE 

,  At  last  Ray  McCrea  was  coming  home.  His  fre 
quent  letters,  full  of  good  comment,  announced  the 
fact. 

"  I  've  been  winning  my  spurs,  commercially  speak 
ing,"  he  wrote.  "The  old  department  heads,  whom 
my  father  taught  me  to  respect,  seem  pleased  with 
what  I  have  done.  I  believe  that  when  I  come  back 
they  will  have  ceased  to  look  on  me  as  a  cadet.  And 
if  they  think  I  'm  fit  for  responsibilities,  perhaps  you 
will  think  so,  too,  Kate.  At  any  rate,  I  know  you  '11 
let  me  say  that  I  am  horribly  homesick.  This  being 
in  a  foreign  land  is  all  very  well,  but  give  me  the  good 
old  American  ways,  crude  though  they  may  be.  I 
want  a  straightforward  confab  with  some  one  of  my 
own  sort;  I  want  the  feeling  that  I  can  move  around 
without  treading  on  somebody's  toes.  I  want,  above 
all,  to  have  a  comfortable  entertaining  evening  with 
a  nice  American  girl  —  a  girl  that  takes  herself  and 
me  for  granted,  and  is  n't  shying  off  all  the  time  as  if 
I  were  a  sort  of  bandit.  What  a  relief  to  think  that 
you'll  not  be  accompanied  by  a  chaperon!  I  shall 
get  back  my  self-respect  once  I  'm  home  again  with 
you  nice,  self-confident  young  American  women." 

"It  will  be  good  to  see  him,  I  believe,"  mused 
Kate.  "After  all,  he  always  looked  after  me.  I  can't 
seem  to  remember  just  how  much  pleasure  I  had  in 
his  society.  At  any  rate,  we  '11  have  plenty  of  things 
to  talk  about.  He  '11  tell  me  about  Europe,  and  I  '11 
tell  him  about  my  work.  That  ought  to  carry  us 
along  quite  a  while." 

152 


THE   PRECIPICE 

She  set  about  making  preparations  for  him.  She 
induced  Honora  to  let  her  have  an  extra  room,  and 
she  made  her  fine  front  chamber  into  a  sitting-room, 
with  a  knocker  on  the  door,  and  some  cheerful  brasses 
and  old  prints  within.  She  came  across  oddities  of 
this  sort  in  her  Russian  and  Italian  neighborhoods, 
but  until  now  she  had  not  taken  very  much  interest 
in  what  she  was  inclined  to  term  "sublimated  junk." 

Mary  Morrison  took  an  almost  vicious  amusement 
in  Kate's  sudden  efforts  at  aesthetic  domestication, 
and  Marna  Fitzgerald  —  who  was  delighted  —  con 
sidered  it  as  a  frank  confession  of  sentiment.  Kate 
let  them  think  what  they  pleased.  She  presented  to 
their  inspection  —  even  Mary  was  invited  up  for  the 
occasion  —  a  cheerful  room  with  a  cream  paper,  a 
tawny-colored  rug,  some  comfortable  wicker  chairs, 
an  interesting  plaster  cast  or  two,  and  the  previously 
mentioned  "loot."  Mary,  in  a  fit  of  friendliness, 
contributed  a  Japanese  wall-basket  dripping  with 
vines;  Honora  proffered  a  lamp  with  a  soft  shade; 
and  Marna  took  pride  in  bestowing  some  delicately 
embroidered  cushions,  white,  and  beautiful  with  the 
beauty  of  Belfast  linen. 

It  did  not  appear  to  occur  to  Kate,  however,  that 
personal  adornment  would  be  desirable,  and  it  took 
the  united  efforts  of  Marna  and  Mary  to  persuade 
her  that  a  new  frock  or  two  might  be  needed.  Kate 
had  a  way  of  avoiding  shabbiness,  but  of  late  her 
interest  in  decoration  had  been  anything  but  keen. 
However,  she  ventured  now  on  a  rather  beguiling 

153 


THE   PRECIPICE 

dress  for  evening  —  a  Japanese  cr£pe  which  a  re 
turned  missionary  sold  her  for  something  more  than 
a  song.  Dr.  von  Shierbrand  said  it  was  the  color  of 
rust,  but  Marna  affirmed  that  it  had  the  hue  of  cop 
per  —  copper  that  was  not  too  bright.  It  was  em 
broidered  gloriously  with  chrysanthemums,  and  she 
had  great  pleasure  in  it.  Mary  Morrison  drew  from 
her  rainbow  collection  a  scarf  which  accentuated  the 
charm  of  the  frock,  and  when  Kate  had  contrived  a 
monk's  cape  of  brown,  she  was  ready  for  possible 
entertainments  —  panoplied  for  sentiment.  She 
would  make  no  further  concessions.  Her  practical 
street  clothes  and  her  home-made  frocks  of  white 
linen,  with  which  she  made  herself  dainty  for  din 
ner  at  Mrs.  Dennison's,  had  to  serve  her. 

"I'm  so  poor,"  she  said  to  Marna,  "that  I  feel 
like  apologizing  for  my  inefficiency.  I'm  getting 
something  now  for  my  talks  at  the  clubs,  and  I  'm 
paid  for  my  writing,  too.  Now  that  it's  begun  to  be 
published,  I  ought  to  be  opulent  presently." 

"You're  no  poorer  than  we,"  Marna  said.  "But 
of  course  there  are  two  of  us  to  be  poor  together; 
and  that  makes  it  more  interesting." 

"Love  doesn't  seem  to  be  flying  out  of  your  win 
dow,"  smiled  Kate. 

"We've  bars  on  the  windows,"  laughed  Marna. 
"Some  former  occupant  of  the  flat  put  them  on  to 
keep  the  babies  from  dashing  their  brains  out  on  the 
pavement  below,  and  we  have  n't  taken  them  off." 
She  blushed. 

154 


THE   PRECIPICE 

,    "No,"  responded  Kate  with  a  moue;  "what  was 
the  use?" 

Unfortunately  McCrea,  the  much-expected,  had 
not  made  it  quite  plain  when  he  was  to  land  in  New 
York.  To  be  sure,  Kate  might  have  consulted  the 
steamer  arrivals,  but  she  forgot  to  do  that.  So  it 
happened  that  when  a  wire  came  from  Ray  saying 
that  he  would  be  in  Chicago  on  a  certain  Saturday 
night  in  mid-May,  Kate  found  herself  under  com 
pulsion  to  march  in  a  suffrage  procession. 

David  Fulham  thought  the  circumstance  uproar 
iously  funny,  and  he  told  them  about  it  at  the  Cara 
vansary.  They  made  rather  an  annoying  jest  of  it, 
but  Kate  held  to  her  promise. 

"  It's  an  historic  event  to  my  mind,"  she  said  with 
all  the  dignity  she  could  summon.  "I  wouldn't 
excuse  myself  if  I  could.  And  I  can't.  I  've  promised 
to  march  at  the  head  of  a  division.  We  hope  there  '11 
be  twenty  thousand  of  us." 

Perhaps  there  were.  Nobody  knew.  But  all  the 
city  did  know  that  down  the  broad  boulevard,  in  the 
mild,  damp  air  of  the  May  night,  regiment  upon 
regiment  of  women  marched  to  bear  witness  to  their 
conviction  and  their  hope.  Bands  played,  choruses 
sang,  transparencies  proclaimed  watchwords,  and 
every  woman  in  the  seemingly  endless  procession 
swung  a  yellow  lantern.  The  onlookers  crowded  the 
sidewalks  and  hung  from  the  towering  office  build 
ings,  to  watch  that  string  of  glowing  amber  beads 

155 


THE  PRECIPICE 

reaching  away  to  north  and  to  south.  College 
girls,  working-girls,  home-women,  fine  ladies,  effi 
cient  business  women,  vague,  non-producing,  half- 
awakened  women,  —  all  sorts,  all  conditions,  black, 
white,  Latin,  Slav,  Germanic,  English,  American, 
American,  American,  —  they  came  marching  on. 
They  were  proud  and  they  were  diffident ;  they  were 
sad  and  they  were  merry;  they  were  faltering  and 
they  were  enthusiastic.  Some  were  there  freely,  splen 
didly,  exultantly ;  more  were  there  because  some  force 
greater  than  themselves  impelled  them.  Through 
bewilderment  and  hesitancy  and  doubt,  they  saw  the 
lights  of  the  future  shining,  and  they  fixed  their  eyes 
upon  the  amber  lanterns  as  upon  the  visible  symbols 
of  their  faith ;  they  marched  and  marched.  They  were 
the  members  of  a  new  revolution,  and,  as  always, 
only  a  portion  of  the  revolutionists  knew  completely 
what  they  desired. 

At  the  Caravansary  there  had  been  sharp  dis 
approval  of  the  whole  thing.  The  men  had  brought 
forth  arguments  to  show  Kate  her  folly.  Mrs.  Den- 
nison,  Mrs.  Goodrich,  and  Mrs.  Applegate  had  spoken 
gentle  words  of  warning;  Honora  had  vaguely  sug 
gested  that  the  matter  was  immaterial;  Mary  Mor 
rison  had  smiled  as  one  who  avoided  ugliness;  and 
Kate  had  laughingly  defied  them. 

"I  march!"  she  had  declared.  "And  I'm  not 
ashamed  of  my  company." 

It  was,  indeed,  a  company  of  which  she  was  proud. 
It  included  the  names  of  the  most  distinguished,  the 

156 


THE  PRECIPICE 

most  useful,  the  most  talented,  the  most  exclusive,  and 
the  most  triumphantly  inclusive  women  in  the  city. 

"Poor  McCrea,"  put  in  Fulham.  "Aren't  you 
making  him  ridiculous?  He'll  come  dashing  up  here 
the  moment  he  gets  off  the  train.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  he'll  be  half  expecting  you  to  meet  him.  You  're 
making  a  mistake,  Miss  Harrington,  if  you'll  let  a 
well-meaning  fellow-being  say  so.  You're  leaving 
the  substance  for  the  shadow." 

"I've  misled  you  about  Ray,  I'm  afraid,"  Kate 
said  with  unexpected  patience.  "He  hasn't  really 
any  right  to  expect  me  to  be  waiting,  and  I  don't 
believe  he  will.  Come  to  think  of  it,  I  don't  know 
that  I  want  to  be  found  waiting." 

"Oh,  well,  of  course  —  "  said  Fulham  with  a  shrug, 
leaving  his  sentence  unfinished. 

"Anyway,"  said  Kate  flushing,  "I  march!" 

They  told  her  afterward  how  McCrea  had  come 
toof-toofing  up  to  the  door  in  a  taxi,  and  how  he  had 
taken  the  steps  two  at  a  time. 

"He  wrung  my  hand,"  said  Honora,  "and  got 
through  the  preliminary  amenities  with  a  dispatch 
I  never  have  seen  excelled.  Then  he  demanded  you. 
'Is  she  upstairs?'  he  asked.  'May  I  go  right  up? 
She  wrote  me  she  had  a  parlor  of  her  own.'  '  She  has 
a  parlor,'  I  said,  'but  she  is  n't  in  it.'  He  balanced 
on  the  end  of  a  toe.  '  Where  is  she  ? '  I  thought  he  was 
going  to  fly.  'She's  out  with  the  suffragists,'  I  said. 
I  did  n't  try  to  excuse  you.  I  thought  you  deserved 

157 


THE   PRECIPICE 

something  pretty  bad.  But  I  did  tell  him  you'd 
promised  to  go  and  that  you  had  n't  known  he  was 
coming  that  day.  'She's  in  that  mess?'  he  cried.  '  I 
saw  the  Amazon  march  as  I  came  along.  You  don't 
mean  Kate's  tramping  the  streets  with  those 
women!'  'Yes,  she  is,'  I  said,  'and  she's  proud  to  do 
it.  But  she  was  sorry  not  to  be  here  to  welcome  you. ' 
'Sorry!'  he  said;  'why,  Mrs.  Fulham,  I've  been 
dreaming  of  this  meeting  for  months.'  Honestly, 
Kate,  I  was  ashamed  for  you.  I  asked  him  in.  I 
told  him  you  'd  be  home  before  long.  But  he  would 
not  come  in.  'Tell  her  I  —  I  came,'  he  said.  Then  he 
went." 

It  was  late  at  night,  and  Kate  was  both  worn  and 
exhilarated  with  her  marching.  Honora's  words 
let  her  down  considerably.  She  sat  with  tears  in  her 
eyes  staring  at  her  friend. 

"But  could  n't  he  see,"  she  pleaded,  "that  I  had 
to  keep  my  word?  Did  n't  he  understand  how  impor 
tant  it  was?  I  can  see  him  to-morrow  just  as  well." 

"Then  you'll  have  to  send  for  him,"  said  Honora 
decisively.  "He'll  not  come  without  urging." 

She  went  up  to  bed  with  a  stern  aspect,  and  left 
Kate  sitting  staring  before  her  by  the  light  of  one  of 
Mary's  foolish  candles. 

"They  seem  to  think  I'm  a  very  unnatural  wo 
man,"  said  Kate  to  herself.  "  But  can't  they  see  how 
much  more  important  it  was  that  the  demonstration 
should  be  a  success  than  that  two  lovers  should  meet 
at  a  certain  hour?" 

158 


THE  PRECIPICE 

The  word  "lovers"  had  slipped  inadvertently 
into  her  mind;  and  no  sooner  had  she  really  recog 
nized  it,  looked  at  it,  so  to  speak,  fairly  in  the  face, 
than  she  rejected  it  with  scorn. 

"We're  just  friends,"  she  protested.  "One  has 
many  friends." 

But  her  little  drawing-room,  all  gay  and  fresh, 
accused  her  of  deceiving  herself;  and  a  glimpse  of 
the  embroidered  frock  reminded  her  that  she  was 
contemptibly  shirking  the  truth.  One  did  not  make 
such  preparations  for  a  mere  "friend."  She  sat  down 
and  wrote  a  note,  put  stamps  on  it  to  insure  its 
immediate  delivery,  and  ran  out  to  the  corner  to 
mail  it.  Then  she  fell  asleep  arguing  with  herself  that 
she  had  been  right,  and  that  he  ought  to  understand 
what  it  meant  to  give  one's  word,  and  that  it  could 
make  no  difference  that  they  were  to  meet  a  few 
hours  later  instead  of  at  the  impetuous  moment  of 
his  arrival. 

She  spent  the  next  day  at  the  Juvenile  Court,  and 
came  home  with  the  conviction  that  there  ought  to 
be  no  more  children  until  all  those  now  wandering 
the  hard  ways  of  the  world  were  cared  for.  She  was 
in  no  mood  for  sweethearting,  yet  she  looked  with 
some  covert  anxiety  at  the  mail-box.  There  was  an 
envelope  addressed  to  her,  but  the  superscription 
was  not  in  Ray's  handwriting.  The  Colorado  stamp 
gave  her  a  hint  of  whom  it  might  have  come  from, 
and  ridiculously  she  felt  her  heart  quickening.  Yet 

159 


THE  PRECIPICE 

why  should  Karl  Wander  write  to  her?  She  made 
herself  walk  slowly  up  the  stairs,  and  insisted  that 
her  hat  and  gloves  and  jacket  should  be  put  scrupu 
lously  in  their  places  before  she  opened  her  letter. 
It  proved  not  to  be  a  letter,  after  all,  but  only  a 
number  of  photographs,  taken  evidently  by  the 
sender,  who  gave  no  word  of  himself.  He  let  the  snow 
capped  solitary  peaks  utter  his  meanings  for  him. 
The  pictures  were  beautiful  and,  in  some  indescriba 
ble  way,  sad — cold  and  isolate.  Kate  ran  her  ringers 
into  the  envelope  again  and  again,  but  she  could  dis 
cover  no  note  there.  Neither  was  there  any  name, 
save  her  own  on  the  cover. 

"At  least,"  said  Kate  testily,  "  I  might  have  been 
told  whom  to  thank." 

But  she  knew  whom  to  thank  —  and  she  knew 
with  equal  positiveness  that  she  would  send  no 
thanks.  For  the  gift  had  been  a  challenge.  It  seemed 
to  say:  "I  dare  you  to  open  communication  with 
me.  I  dare  you  to  break  the  conscious  silence  be 
tween  us! " 

Kate  did  not  lift  the  glove  that  had  been  thrown 
down.  She  hid  the  photographs  in  her  clock  and  told 
no  one  about  them. 

At  the  close  of  the  third  day  a  note  came  from  Ray. 
Her  line,  he  said,  had  followed  him  to  Lake  Forest 
and  he  had  only  then  found  time  to  answer  it.  He 
was  seeing  old  friends  and  was  very  much  occupied 
with  business  and  with  pleasure,  but  he  hoped  to  see 
her  before  long.  Kate  laughed  aloud  at  the  rebuff.  It 

160 


THE  PRECIPICE 

was,  she  thought,  a  sort  of  Silvertree  method  of 
putting  her  in  her  place.  But  she  was  sorry,  too,  — 
sorry  for  his  hurt;  sorry,  indefinitely  and  indescrib 
ably,  for  something  missed.  If  it  had  been  Karl 
Wander  whom  she  had  treated  like  that  he  would 
have  waited  on  her  doorstep  till  she  came,  and  if 
he  had  felt  himself  entitled  to  a  quarrel,  he  would 
have  "had  it  out"  before  men  and  the  high  gods. 

At  least,  so  she  imagined  he  would  have  done;  but 
upon  consideration '  there  were  few  persons  in  the 
world  about  whom  she  knew  less  than  about  Karl 
Wander.  It  seemed  as  if  Honora  were  actually 
perverse  in  the  way  she  avoided  his  name. 


XIV, 

THE  spring  was  coming.  Signs  of  it  showed  at  the 
park  edges,  where  the  high  willow  hedges  began  to 
give  forth  shoots  of  yellowish-green;  at  times  the 
lake  was  opalescent  and  the  sky  had  moments  of 
tenderness  and  warmth.  Even  through  the  pave 
ment  one  seemed  to  scent  the  earth;  and  the  flower 
shops  set  up  their  out-of-door  booths  and  solicited 
the  passer-by  with  blossoms. 

When  Kate  could  spare  the  money,  she  bought 
flowers  for  Marna  —  for  it  was  flower-time  with 
Marna,  and  she  had  seen  the  Angel  of  the  Annuncia 
tion.  All  that  was  Celtic  in  her  was  coming  upper 
most.  She  dreamed  and  brooded  and  heard  voices. 
Kate  liked  to  sit  in  the  little  West-Side  flat  and  be 
comforted  of  the  happiness  there.  She  was  feeling 
very  absurd  herself,  and  she  was  ashamed  of  her 
excursion  into  the  realms  of  feminine  folly.  That  was 
the  way  she  put  her  defection  from  "common  sense," 
and  her  little  flare  of  sentiment  for  Ray,  and  all  her 
breathless,  ridiculous  preparation  for  him.  She  had 
never  worn  the  chrysanthemum  dress,  and  she  so 
loathed  the  sight  of  it  that  she  boxed  it  and  put  it  in 
the  bottom  of  her  trunk. 

No  word  came  from  Ray.  "Sometime"  had 
not  materialized  and  he  had  failed  to  call.  His  name 
was  much  in  the  papers  as  "best  man"  or  cotillion 

162 


THE  PRECIPICE 

leader  or  host  at  club  dinners.  He  moved  in  a  world 
of  which  Kate  saw  nothing  —  a  rather  competitive 
world,  where  money  counted  and  where  there  was 
a  brisk  exchange  of  social  amenities.  Kate's  fes 
tivities  consisted  of  settlement  dinners  and  tea  here 
and  there,  at  odd,  interesting  places  with  fellow 
"welfare  workers " ;  and  now  and  then  she  went  with 
Honora  to  some  University  affair.  A  great  many 
ladies  sent  her  cards  to  their  "afternoons"  —  ladies 
whom  she  met  at  the  home  of  the  President  of  the 
University,  or  with  whom  she  came  in  contact  at 
Hull  House  or  some  of  the  other  settlements.  But 
such  diversions  she  was  obliged  to  deny  herself.  They 
would  have  taken  time  from  her  too-busy  hours; 
and  she  had  not  the  strength  to  do  her  work  accord 
ing  to  her  conscience,  and  then  to  drag  herself  half 
way  across  town,  merely  for  the  amiability  of  mak 
ing  her  bow  and  eating  an  ice  in  a  charming  house. 
Not  but  that  she  enjoyed  the  atmosphere  of  luxury 
—  the  elusive  sense  of  opulence  given  her  by  the 
flowers,  the  distant  music,  the  smiling,  luxurious, 
complimentary  women,  the  contrast  between  the 
glow  within  and  the  chill  of  twilight  without  — 
twilight  sparkling  with  the  lights  of  the  waiting 
motors,  and  the  glittering  procession  on  the  Drive. 
But,  after  all,  while  others  rode,  she  walked,  and 
sometimes  she  was  very  weary.  To  be  sure,  she 
was  too  gallant,  too  much  at  ease  in  her  entertaining 
world,  too  expectant  of  the  future,  to  fret  even  for 
a  moment  about  the  fact  that  she  was  walking 

163 


THE   PRECIPICE 

while  others  rode.  She  hardly  gave  it  a  thought.  But 
her  disadvantages  made  her  unable  to  cope  with 
other  women  socially.  She  was,  as  she  often  said, 
fond  of  playing  a  game;  but  the  social  game  pushed 
the  point  of  achievement  a  trifle  too  far. 

Moreover,  there  was  the  mere  bother  of  "dressing 
the  part."  Her  handsome  heavy  shoes,  her  strong, 
fashionable  street  gloves,  her  well-cared-for  street 
frock,  and  becoming,  practical  hat  she  could  obtain 
and  maintain  in  freshness.  She  was  "well-groomed  " 
and  made  a  sort  of  point  of  looking  competent,  as  if 
she  felt  mistress  of  herself  and  her  circumstances; 
she  could  even  make  herself  dainty  for  a  little  dinner, 
but  the  silks  and  furs,  the  prodigality  of  yard-long 
gloves,  the  fetching  boots  and  whimsical  jewels  of 
the  ladies  who  made  a  fine  art  of  feminine  entertain 
ments,  were  quite  beyond  her.  So,  sensibly,  she 
counted  it  all  out. 

That  Ray  was  at  home  in  such  surroundings,  and 
that,  had  she  been  willing  to  give  him  the  welcome 
he  expected,  she  might  have  had  a  welcome  at  these 
as  yet  unopened  doors  through  which  he  passed  with 
conscious  suavity,  sometimes  occurred  to  her.  She 
was  but  human  —  and  but  woman  —  and  she  could 
not  be  completely  oblivious  to  such  things.  But  they 
did  not,  after  all,  wear  a  very  alluring  aspect. 

When  she  dreamed  of  being  happy,  as  she  often  did, 
it  was  not  amid  such  scenes.  Sometimes,  when  she 
was  half-sleeping,  and  vague  visions  of  joy  haunted 
the  farther  chambers  of  her  brain,  she  saw  herself 

164 


THE  PRECIPICE 

walking  among  mountains.  The  setting  sun  glittered 
on  distant,  splendid  snows;  the  torrent  rushed  by 
her,  filling  the  world  with  its  clamor;  beneath  lay  the 
valley,  and  through  the  gathering  gloom  she  could 
see  the  light  of  homes.  Then,  as  sleep  drew  nearer 
and  the  actual  world  slipped  farther  away,  she  seemed 
to  be  treading  the  path  —  homeward  —  with  some 
companion.  Which  of  those  lights  spelled  home  for 
her  she  did  not  know,  and  whenever  she  tried  to  see 
the  face  of  her  companion,  the  shadows  grew  deeper, 
—  as  deep  as  oblivion,  —  and  she  slept. 

She  was  lonely.  She  felt  she  had  missed  much 
in  missing  Ray.  She  knew  her  friends  disapproved 
of  her;  and  she  was  profoundly  ashamed  that  they 
should  have  seen  her  in  that  light,  expectant  hour 
in  which  she  awaited  this  lover  who  appeared  to  be 
no  lover,  after  all.  But  she  deserved  her  humiliation. 
She  had  conducted  herself  like  the  expectant  bride, 
and  she  had  no  right  to  any  such  attitude  because 
her  feelings  were  not  those  of  a  bride. 

The  thing  that  she  did  desperately  care  about  just 
now  was  the  fitting-up  of  a  home  for  mothers  and 
babes  in  the  Wisconsin  woods.  It  was  to  be  a  place 
where  the  young  Polish  mothers  of  a  part  of  her  dis 
trict  could  go  and  forget  the  belching  horror  of  the 
steel  mills,  and  the  sultry  nights  in  the  crowded, 
vermin-haunted  homes.  She  hoped  for  much  from 
it  —  much  more  than  the  physical  recuperation, 
though  that  was  not  to  be  belittled.  There  was 
some  hitch,  at  the  last,  about  the  endowment.  A 

165 


THE  PRECIPICE 

benevolent  spinster  had  promised  to  remember  the 
prospective  home  in  her  will  and  neglected  to  do  so, 
and  now  there  were  several  thousands  to  be  col 
lected  from  some  unknown  source.  Kate  was  ab 
sorbed  with  that  when  she  was  not  engaged  with 
her  regular  work.  Moreover,  she  made  a  point  of 
being  absorbed.  She  could  not  endure  the  thought 
that  she  might  be  going  about  with  a  love-lorn,  he- 
cometh-not  expression. 

Life  has  a  way  of  ambling  withal  for  a  certain 
time,  and  then  of  breaking  into  a  headlong  gallop 
—  bolting  free  —  plunging  to  catastrophe  or  liberty. 
Kate  went  her  busy  ways  for  a  fortnight,  somewhat 
chastened  in  spirit,  secretly  a  little  ashamed,  and 
altogether  very  determined  to  make  such  a  useful 
person  of  herself  that  she  could  forget  her  apparent 
lack  of  attractions  (for  she  told  herself  mercilessly 
that  if  she  had  been  very  much  desired  by  Ray  he 
would  not  have  been  able  to  leave  her  upon  so  slight 
a  provocation).  Then,  one  day,  —  it  was  the  last 
day  of  May  and  the  world  had  rejuvenated  itself,  — 
she  came  across  him. 

A  more  unlikely  place  hardly  could  have  been 
chosen  for  their  meeting  than  an  "isle  of  safety" 
in  mid-street,  with  motors  hissing  and  toof-toofing 
round  about,  policemen  gesticulating,  and  the  crowd 
ceaselessly  surging.  The  two  were  marooned  with 
twenty  others,  and  met  face  to  face,  squarely,  like 
foes  who  set  themselves  to  combat.  At  first  he  tried 

166 


THE  PRECIPICE 

not  to  see  her,  and  she,  noting  his  impulse,  thought 
it  would  be  the  part  of  propriety  not  to  see  him.  Then 
that  struck  her  as  so  futile,  so  childish,  so  altogether 
a  libel  on  the  good-fellowship  which  they  had  en 
joyed  in  the  old  days,  that  she  held  out  her  hand. 

He  swept  his  hat  from  his  head  and  grasped  the 
extended  hand  in  a  violent  yet  tremulous  clutch. 

"We  seem  to  be  going  in  opposite  directions,"  she 
said.  There  was  just  a  hint  of  a  rising  inflection  in 
the  accent. 

He  laughed  with  nervous  delight. 

"We  are  going  the  same  way,"  he  declared. 
"That's  a  well-established  fact." 

An  irritable  policeman  broke  in  on  them  with :  — 

"Do  you  people  want  to  get  across  the  street  or 
not?" 

"Personally,"  said  McCrea,  smiling  at  him,  "I'm 
not  particular." 

The  policeman  was  Irish  and  he  liked  lovers.  He 
thought  he  was  looking  at  a  pair  of  them. 

"Well,  it's  not  the  place  I'd  be  choosing  for  con 
versation,  sir,"  he  said. 

"Right  you  are,"  agreed  Ray.  "I  suppose  you'd 
prefer  a  lane  in  Ballamacree?" 

"Yes,  sir.   Good  luck  to  you,  sir." 

"Same  to  you,"  called  back  Ray. 

He  and  Kate  swung  into  the  procession  on  the 
boulevard.  Kate  was  smiling  happily. 

"You  have  n't  changed  a  bit!"  she  cried.  "You 
keep  right  on  enjoying  yourself,  don't  you?" 

167 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  retorted  Ray  indignantly.  "  I've 
been  miserable!  You  know  I  have.  The  only  satis 
faction  I  got  at  all  was  in  hoping  I  was  making  you 
miserable,  too.  Was  I?" 

"I  wouldn't  own  to  it  if  you  had,"  said  Kate. 
"Shall  we  forgive  each  other?" 

"  Do  you  want  it  to  be  as  easy  as  that  —  after  all 
we've  been  through?  Would  n't  it  be  more  satis 
factory  to  quarrel?" 

"You  can  if  you  want,  of  course,"  Kate  laughed. 
"But  had  n't  it  better  be  with  some  other  person? 
Really,  I  wanted  to  see  you  dreadfully  —  or,  at  least, 
I  wanted  to  see  you  pleasantly.  I  had  made  prepa 
rations.  You  did  n't  let  me  know  when  to  expect 
you,  and  I  had  an  engagement  when  you  did  come. 
Were  n't  you  foolish  to  get  in  a  rage?" 

"  But  I  was  so  frightfully  disappointed.  I  expected 
so  much  and  I  had  expected  it  so  long." 
.  "Ray!"  Her  voice  was  almost  stern,  and  he 
turned  to  look  at  her  half  with  amusement,  half 
with  apprehension.  "  Expect  nothing.  Enjoy  your 
self  to-day." 

"But  how  can  I  enjoy  myself  to-day  unless  I  am 
made  to  understand  that  there  is  something  I  may 
expect  from  you?  Circumstances  have  kept  us  play 
ing  fast  and  loose  long  enough.  Can't  we  come  to  an 
understanding,  Kate?" 

Kate  stopped  to  look  in  a  florist's  window  and 
fixed  her  eyes  upon  a  vast  bouquet  of  pale  pink  roses. 

"Do  say  something,"  he  said  after  a  time. 
168 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"Shall  I  speak  from  the  heart?" 

"Oh,  yes,  please."  He  drew  his  breath  in  sharply 
between  his  teeth. 

"Well,  then,  I  'm  not  ready  to  give  up  my  free  life, 
Ray.  I  can't  seem  to  see  my  way  to  relinquishing  any 
part  of  my  liberty.  I  think  you  know  why.  I  Ve  told 
you  everything  in  my  letters.  I  feel  too  experimental 
to  settle  down." 

"You  don't  love  me!" 

"Did  I  ever  say  I  did?" 

"You  gave  me  to  understand  that  you  might." 

"You  wanted  me  to  try." 

"  But  you  have  n't  succeeded?  Then,  for  heaven's 
sake,  let  me  go  and  make  out  some  other  programme 
for  myself.  I  Ve  come  back  to  you  because  I  could  n't 
be  satisfied  away  from  you.  I  Ve  seen  women,  if  it 
comes  to  that,  —  cities  of  women.  But  there's  no 
one  like  you,  Kate,  to  my  mind ;  no  one  who  so  makes 
me  enjoy  the  hour,  or  so  plan  for  the  future.  Ever 
since  that  day  when  you  stood  up  by  the  C  Bench 
and  fought  for  the  right  of  women  to  sit  on  it,  — 
that  silly  old  C  Bench,  —  I  Ve  liked  your  warring 
spirit.  And  I  come  back,  by  Jove,  to  find  you  march 
ing  with  the  militant  women!  Well,  I  did  n't  know 
whether  to  laugh  or  swear!  Anyway,  you  do  beat 
the  world." 

"A  pretty  sweetheart  I'd  make,"  cried  Kate, 
disgusted  with  herself.  "I'm  only  good  to  provide 
you  with  amusement,  it  seems." 

"You  provide  me  with  the  breath  of  life !  Heavens, 
169 


THE  PRECIPICE 

what  a  spring  you  have  when  you  walk !  And  you  're 
as  straight  as  a  grenadier.  I'm  so  sick  of  seeing 
slouching,  die-away  women !  It's  only  you  American 
women  who  know  how  to  carry  yourselves.  Oh, 
Kate,  if  you  can't  answer  me,  don't,  but  let  me  see 
you  once  in  a  while.  I  'm  a  weak  character,  and  I  've 
got  to  enjoy  your  society  a  little  longer." 

"You  can  enjoy  as  much  of  it  as  you  please,  only 
you  must  n't  be  holding  me  up  to  some  tremendous 
responsibility,  and  blaming  me  by  and  by  for  things 
I  can't  help." 

"  I  give  you  my  word  I  '11  not.  Oh,  Kate,  is  this  a 
busy  day  with  you?  Can't  you  come  out  into  the 
country  somewhere?  We  could  take  the  electric  and 
in  an  hour  we  'd  be  out  where  we  could  see  orchards 
in  bloom." 

"I  could  go,"  mused  Kate.  "I've  a  half-holiday 
coming  to  me,  and  really,  if  I  were  to  take  it  to-day, 
no  one  would  care." 

"The  ayes  have  it!  Let  us  go  to  the  station  —  I  '11 
buy  plenty  of  tickets  and  we  can  get  off  at  any 
place  where  the  climate  seems  mild  and  the  na 
tives  kind." 

It  proved  to  be  a  day  of  encounters. 

They  had  traveled  well  beyond  the  city,  past  the 
straggling  suburbs  and  the  comfortable,  friendly  old 
villages,  some  of  which  antedated  the  city  of  which 
they  were  now  the  fringe,  and  had  reached  the  wider 
sweeps  of  the  prairie,  with  the  fine  country  homes 

170 


THE  PRECIPICE 

of  those  who  sought  privacy.  At  length  they  came  to 
a  junction  of  the  road. 

"All  out  here  for  - 

They  could  not  catch  the  name. 

"Is  n't  that  where  we're  going?"  laughed  Kate.  ' 

"Of  course  it  is,"  Ray  responded. 

They  hastened  out  and  looked  about  them  for  the 
train  they  had  supposed  would  be  in  waiting.  It  was 
not  yet  in,  however,  but  was  showing  its  dark  nose 
a  mile  or  two  down  the  track. 

"I  must  see  about  our  tickets,"  said  Ray.  "Per 
haps  we'll  have  to  buy  others." 

Kate  had  been  standing  with  her  back  to  the  ticket 
station  window,  but  now  she  turned,  and  through 
the  ticker-seller's  window  envisaged  the  pale,  bitterly 
sullen  face  of  Lena  Vroom.  It  looked  sunken  and 
curiously  alien,  as  if  its  possessor  felt  herself  un 
friended  of  all  the  world. 

"Lena!"  cried  Kate,  too  startled  to  use  tact  or  to 
wait  for  Lena  to  give  the  first  sign  of  recognition. 

Lena  nodded  coolly. 

"Oh,  is  this  where  you  are?"  cried  Kate.  "We've 
looked  everywhere  for  you." 

"  If  I'd  wanted  to  be  found,  I  could  have  been,  you 
know."  The  tone  was  muffled  and  pitifully  insolent. 

"You  are  living  out  here?" 

"  I  live  a  few  miles  from  here." 

"And  you  like  the  work?  Is  it  —  is  it  well  with  you, 
Lena?" 

"It  will  never  be  well  with  me,  and  you  know  it. 
171 


THE  PRECIPICE 

I  broke  down,  that's  all.  I  can't  stand  anything 
now  that  takes  thought.  This  just  suits  me  —  a  little 
mechanical  work  like  this.  I  'm  not  fit  to  talk,  Kate. 
You  '11  have  to  excuse  me.  It  upsets  me.  I  'm  ordered 
to  keep  very  quiet.  If  I  get  upset,  I  '11  not  be  fit  even 
for  this." 

"I'll  go,"  said  Kate  contritely.  "And  I'll  tell  no 
one."  She  battled  to  keep  the  tears  from  her  eyes. 
"Only  tell  me,  need  you  work  at  all?  I  thought  you 
had  enough  to  get  along  on,  Lena.  You  often  told 
me  so  —  forgive  me,  but  we ' ve  been  close  friends, 
you  know,  even  if  we  are  n't  now." 

"My  money's  gone,"  said  Lena  in  a  dead  voice. 
"I  used  up  my  principal.  It  was  n't  much.  I'm  in 
debt,  too,  and  I  Ve  got  to  get  that  paid  off.  But  I  Ve 
a  comfortable  place  to  live,  Kate,  with  a  good 
motherly  German  woman.  I  tell  you  for  your  peace 
of  mind,  because  I  know  you  —  you  always  think 
you  have  to  be  affectionate  and  to  care  about  what 
people  are  doing.  But  you  '11  serve  me  best  by  leaving 
me  alone.  Understand?" 

"Oh,  Lena,  yes!  I'll  not  come  near  you,  but  I 
can't  help  thinking  about  you.  And  I  beg  and  pray 
you  to  write  me  if  you  need  me  at  any  time." 

"I  can't  talk  about  anything  any  more.  It  tires 
me.  There's  your  train." 

Ray  bought  his  tickets  to  nowhere  in  particular. 
The  little  train  came  on  like  a  shuttle  through  the 
blue  loom  of  the  air;  they  got  on,  and  were  shot 
forward  through  bright  green  fields,  past  expectant 

172 


THE  PRECIPICE 

groves  and  flowering  orchards,  cheered  by  the  elate 
singing  of  innumerable  birds. 

Ray  had  recognized  Lena,  but  Kate  refused  to  dis 
cuss  her. 

"Life  has  hurt  her,"  she  said,  "and  she's  in  hid 
ing  like  a  wounded  animal.  I  could  n't  talk  about 
her.  I  —  I  love  her.  It's  like  that  with  me.  Once 
I  Ve  loved  a  person,  I  can't  get  it  out  of  my  system." 

She  was  staring  from  the  window,  trying  to  get 
back  her  happiness.  Ray  snatched  her  hand  and 
held  it  in  a  crushing  grip. 

"For  God's  sake,  Kate,  try  to  love  me,  then!" 
he  whispered. 

It  was  spring  all  about  them,  —  "the  pretty 
ring-time,"  —  and  she  had  just  seen  what  it  was  to 
be  a  defeated  and  unloved  woman.  She  felt  a  thrill 
go  through  her,  and  she  turned  an  indiscreetly  bright 
face  upon  her  companion. 

"Don't  expect  too  much,"  she  whispered  back, 
"but  I  w»B  try." 

They  went  on,  almost  with  the  feeling  that  they 
were  in  Arcadia,  and  drew  up  at  a  platform  in  the 
midst  of  woods,  through  which  they  could  see  a 
crooked  trail  winding. 

"Here's  our  place!"  cried  Ray.  "Don't  you 
recognize  it?  Not  that  you've  ever  seen  it  before." 

They  dashed,  laughing,  from  the  train,  and  found 
themselves  a  minute  later  in  a  bird-haunted  solitude, 
among  flowers,  at  the  beginning  of  the  woodland 
walk.  There  seemed  to  be  no  need  to  comment  upon 


THE  PRECIPICE 

the  beauty  of  things.  It  was  quite  enough  that  the 
bland,  caressing  air  beat  upon  their  cheeks  in  play 
ful  gusts,  that  the  robins  gave  no  heed  to  them,  and 
that  ''the  little  gray  leaves  were  kind"  to  them. 

Never  was  there  a  more  capricious  trail  than  the 
one  they  set  themselves  to  follow.  It  skirted  the  edge 
of  a  little  morass  where  the  young  flags  were  coming 
up;  it  followed  the  windings  of  a  brook  where  the 
wild  forget-me-not  threw  up  its  little  azure  buds;  it 
crossed  the  stream  a  dozen  times  by  means  of  shak 
ing  bridges,  or  fallen  trees ;  it  had  magnificent  gate 
ways  between  twin  oaks  —  gateways  to  yet  pleas- 
anter  reaches  of  leaving  woodland. 

"Whatever  can  it  lead  to?"  wondered  Kate. 

"To  some  new  kind  of  Paradise,  perhaps,"  an 
swered  Ray.  "And  see,  some  one  has  been  before 
us!  Hush—" 

He  drew  her  back  into  the  bushes  at  the  side,  be 
neath  a  low-hanging  willow.  A  man  and  a  woman 
were  coming  toward  them.  The  woman  was  walking 
first,  treading  proudly,  her  head  thrown  back,  her 
body  in  splendid  motion,  like  that  of  an  advancing 
Victory.  The  man,  taller  than  she,  was  resting 
one  hand  upon  her  shoulder.  He,  too,  looked  like 
one  who  had  mastered  the  elements  and  who  felt 
the  pangs  of  translation  into  some  more  ethereal 
and  liberating  world.  As  they  came  on,  proud  as 
Adam  and  Eve  in  the  first  days  of  their  existence, 
Kate  had  a  blinding  recognition  of  them.  They  were 
David  Fulham  and  Mary  Morrison. 

174 


THE   PRECIPICE 

She  looked  once,  saw  their  faces  shining  with 
pagan  joy,  and,  turning  her  gaze  from  them,  sank 
on  the  earth  behind  the  screen  of  bushes.  Ray  per 
ceived  her  desire  to  remain  unseen,  and  stepped 
behind  the  wide-girthed  oak.  The  two  passed  them, 
still  treading  that  proud  step.  When  they  were  gone, 
Kate  arose  and  led  the  way  on  along  the  path.  She 
wished  to  turn  back,  but  she  dared  not,  fearing  to 
meet  the  others  on  the  station  platform.  Ray  had 
recognized  Fulham,  but  he  did  not  know  his  com 
panion,  and  Kate  would  not  tell  him. 

"What  a  fool!"  he  said.  " I  thought  he  loved  his 
wife.  She's  a  fine  woman." 

"He  loves  his  wife,"  affirmed  Kate  stalwartly. 
"But  there's  a  hedonistic  fervor  in  him.  He's — " 

"He's  a  fool!"  reaffirmed  Ray.  "Shall  we  talk 
of  something  else?" 

"By  all  means,"  agreed  Kate. 

They  tried,  but  the  glory  of  the  day  was  slain. \ 
They  had  seen  the  serpent  in  their  Eden — and  where  ) 
there  is  one  reptile  there  may  always  be  another. 

When  they  thought  it  discreet,  they  went  back 
to  the  junction.  Lena  Vroom  was  still  there.  She 
was  nibbling  at  some  dry-looking  sandwiches.  Her 
glance  forbade  them  to  say  anything  personal  to 
her,  and  Kate,  with  a  clutch  at  the  heart,  passed 
her  by  as  if  she  had  been  any  ticket-seller. 

She  wondered  if  any  one,  seeing  that  gray -faced, 
heavy-eyed  woman,  would  dream  of  her  so  dearly 
won  Ph.D.  or  of  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  key  which  she 

175 


THE  PRECIPICE 

had  won  but  not  claimed !  She  had  not  even  dared 
to  converse,  lest  Lena's  fragile  self-possession  should 
break.  She  evidently  was  in  the  clutches  of  nervous 
fatigue  and  was  fighting  it  with  her  last  remnant  of 
courage.  Even  the  veriest  layman  could  guess  as 
much. 

Kate  hastened  home,  and  as  she  opened  the  door 
she  heard  thevoiceof  Honora mingled  with  the  happy 
cries  of  the  twins.  They  were  down  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  Honora  had  bought  some  colored  balloons 
for  them,  and  was  running  to  and  fro  with  them  in 
her  hand,  while  Patience  and  Patricia  shrieked  with 
delight. 

"What  a  lovely  day  it's  been,  has  n't  it?"  Honora 
queried,  pausing  in  her  play.  "  I  Ve  so  longed  to  be 
in  the  country,  but  matters  had  reached  such  a  criti 
cal  point  at  the  laboratory  that  I  could  n't  get  away. 
Do  you  know,  Kate,  the  great  experiment  that  David 
and  I  are  making  is  much  further  along  than  he  sur 
mises  !  I  'm  going  to  have  a  glorious  surprise  for  him 
one  of  these  days.  Business  took  him  over  to  the 
Academy  of  Science  to-day  and  I  was  so  glad  of  it. 
It  gave  me  the  laboratory  quite  to  myself.  But 
really,  I  Ve  got  to  get  out  into  the  country.  I  'm  go 
ing  to  ask  David  if  he  won't  take  me  next  Sunday." 

Kate  felt  herself  growing  giddy.  She  dared  not 
venture  to  reply.  She  kissed  the  babies  and  sped  up 
to  her  room.  But  Honora's  happy  laughter  followed 
her  even  there.  Then  suddenly  there  was  a  scurry 
ing.  Kate  guessed  that  David  was  coming.  The 

176 


THE  PRECIPICE 

babies  were  being  carried  up  to  the  nursery  lest  they 
should  annoy  him. 

Kate  beat  the  wall  with  her  fists. 

"  Fool !  Fool ! "  she  cried.  "Why  did  n't  she  let  him 
see  her  laughing  and  dancing  like  that?  Why  did  n't 
she?  She'll  come  down  all  prim  and  staid  for  him 
and  he'll  never  dream  what  she  really  is  like.  Oh, 
how  can  she  be  so  blind?  I  don't  know  how  to  stand 
it!  And  I  don't  know  what  to  do!  Why  is  n't  there 
some  one  to  tell  me  what  I  ought  to  do?" 

Mary  Morrison  was  late  to  dinner.  She  said  she 
had  run  across  an  old  Californian  friend  and  they 
had  been  having  tea  together  and  seeing  the  shops. 
She  had  no  appetite  for  dinner,  which  seemed  to 
carry  out  her  story.  Her  eyes  were  as  brilliant  as 
stars,  and  a  magnetic  atmosphere  seemed  to  emanate 
from  her.  The  men  all  talked  to  her.  They  seemed 
disturbed  —  not  themselves.  There  was  something 
in  her  glowing  lips,  in  her  swimming  glance,  in  the 
slow  beauty  of  her  motions,  that  called  to  them  like 
the  pipes  o'  Pan.  She  was  as  pagan  and  as  beautiful 
as  the  spring,  and  she  brought  to  them  thoughts  of 
elemental  joys.  It  was  as  if,  sailing  a  gray  sea,  they 
had  come  upon  a  palm-shaded  isle,  and  glimpsed 
Calypso  lying  on  the  sun-dappled  grass. 


XV 

THAT  night  Kate  said  she  would  warn  Honora; 
but  in  the  morning  she  found  herself  doubtful  of  the 
wisdom  of  such  a  course.  Or  perhaps  she  really  lacked 
the  courage  for  it.  At  any  rate,  she  put  it  off.  She 
contemplated  talking  to  Mary  Morrison,  and  of  ap 
pealing  to  her  honor,  or  her  compassion,  and  of 
advising  her  to  go  away.  But  Mary  was  much  from 
home  nowadays,  and  Kate,  who  had  discouraged  an 
intimacy,  did  not  know  how  to  cultivate  it  at  this 
late  hour.  Several  days  went  by  with  Kate  in  a  tu 
mult  of  indecision.  Sometimes  she  decided  that  the 
romance  between  Mary  and  David  was  a  mere 
spring  madness,  which  would  wear  itself  out  and  do 
little  damage.  At  other  moments  she  felt  it  was  laid 
upon  her  to  speak  and  avert  a  catastrophe. 

Then,  in  the  midst  of  her  indecision,  she  was  com 
manded  to  go  to  Washington  to  attend  a  national 
convention  of  social  workers.  She  was  to  represent 
the  Children's  Protective  Agency,  and  to  give  an 
account  of  the  method  of  its  support  and  of  its 
system  of  operation.  She  was  surprised  and  grati 
fied  at  this  invitation,  for  she  had  had  no  idea  that 
her  club  and  settlement-house  addresses  had  at 
tracted  attention  to  that  extent.  She  made  so  little 
effort  when  she  spoke  that  she  could  not  feel  much 
respect  for  her  achievement.  It  was  as  if  she  were 

178 


THE  PRECIPICE 

talking  to  a  friend,  and  the  size  of  her  audience  in 
no  way  affected  her  neighborly  accent. 

She  did  not  see  that  it  was  precisely  this  thing 
which  was  winning  favor  for  her.  Her  lack  of  self- 
consciousness,  her  way  of  telling  people  precisely 
what  they  wished  to  know  about  the  subject  in  hand, 
her  sense  of  values,  which  enabled  her  to  see  that  a 
human  fact  is  the  most  interesting  thing  in  the  world, 
were  what  counted  for  her.  If  she  had  been  "better 
trained,"  and  more  skilled  in  the  dreary  and  often 
meaningless  science  of  statistics,  or  had  become  ad 
dicted  to  the  benevolent  jargon  talked  by  many  wel 
fare  workers,  her  array  of  facts  would  have  fallen 
on  more  or  less  indifferent  ears.  But  she  offered  not 
vital  statistics,  but  vital  documents.  She  talked 
in  personalities  —  in  personalities  so  full  of  meaning 
that,  concrete  as  they  were,  they  took  on  general 
significance  —  they  had  the  effect  of  symbols.  She 
furnished  watchwords  for  her  listeners,  and  she  did 
it  unconsciously.  She  would  have  been  indignant  if 
she  had  been  told  how  large  a  part  her  education  in 
Silvertree  played  in  her  present  aptitude.  She  had 
grown  up  in  a  town  which  feasted  on  dramatic  gossip, 
and  which  thrived  upon  the  specific  personal  episode. 
To  the  vast  and  terrific  city,  and  to  her  portion  of  the 
huge  task  of  mitigating  the  woe  of  its  unfit,  Kate 
brought  the  quality  which,  undeveloped,  would  have 
made  of  her  no  more  than  an  entertaining  village 
gossip. 

What  stories  there  were  to  tell!  What  stories  of 
179 


THE  PRECIPICE 

bravery  in  defeat,  of  faith  in  the  midst  of  disaster, 
of  family  devotion  in  spite  of  squalor  and  subter 
fuges  and  all  imaginable  shiftlessness  and  shiftiness. 

Kate  had  got  hold  of  the  idea  of  the  universality 
of  life  —  the  universality  of  joy  and  pain  and  hope. 
She  was  finding  it  easy  now  to  forgive  "the  little 
brothers"  for  all  possible  perversity,  all  defects,  all 
ingratitude.  Wayward  children  they  might  be,  — 
children  uninstructed  in  the  cult  of  goodness,  happi 
ness,  serenity,  —  but  outside  the  pale  of  human 
consideration  they  could  not  be.  The  greater  their 
fault  the  greater  their  need.  Kate  was  learning,  in 
spite  of  her  native  impatience  and  impulsiveness,  to 
be  very  patient.  She  was  becoming  the  defender  of 
those  who  stumbled,  the  explainer  of  those  who 
themselves  lacked  explanations  or  who  were  too  de 
fiant  to  give  them. 

So  she  was  going  to  Washington.  She  was  to  talk 
on  a  proposed  school  for  the  instruction  of  mothers. 
She  often  had  heard  her  father  say  that  a  good 
mother  was  an  exception.  She  had  not  believed  him 
—  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  this  idea  of  his  was 
a  part  of  his  habitual  pessimism.  But  since  she  had 
come  up  to  the  city  and  become  an  officer  of  the 
Children's  Protective  Association,  she  had  changed 
her  mind,  and  a  number  of  times  she  had  been  on  the 
point  of  writing  to  her  father  to  tell  him  that  she  was 
beginning  to  understand  his  point  of  view. 

This  idea  of  a  school  for  mothers  had  been  her 
own,  originally,  and  a  development  of  the  little  sum- 

180 


THE  PRECIPICE 

mer  home  for  Polish  mothers  which  she  had  helped 
to  establish.  She  had  proposed  it,  half  in  earnest, 
merely,  at  Hull  House  on  a  certain  occasion  when 
there  were  a  number  of  influential  persons  present. 
It  had  appealed  to  them,  however,  as  a  practical 
means  of  remedying  certain  difficulties  daily  en 
countered. 

Just  how  large  a  part  Jane  Addams  had  played  in 
the  enlightenment  of  Kate's  mind  and  the  dissolu 
tion  of  her  inherent  exclusiveness,  Kate  could  not 
say.  Sometimes  she  gave  the  whole  credit  to  her.  For 
here  was  a  woman  with  a  genius  for  inclusiveness. 
She  was  the  sister  of  all  men.  If  a  youth  sinned,  she 
asked  herself  if  she  could  have  played  any  part  in  the 
prevention  of  that  sin  had  she  had  more  awareness, 
more  solicitude.  It  was  she  who  had,  more  than 
others,  —  though  there  was  a  great  army  of  men  and 
women  of  good  will  to  sustain  her,  —  promulgated 
this  idea  of  responsibility.  A  city,  she  maintained, 
.  was  a  great  home.  She  demanded,  then,  to  know  if 
the  house  was  made  attractive,  instructive,  protec 
tive.  Was  it  so  conducted  that  the  wayward  sons 
and  daughters,  as  well  as  the  obedient  ones,  could 
find  safety  and  happiness  within  it?  Were  the  priv 
ileges  only  for  the  rich,  the  effective,  and  the  out- 
reaching?  Or  were  they  for  those  who  lacked  the 
courage  to  put  out  their  hands  for  joy  and  knowl 
edge?  Were  they  for  those  who  had  not  yet  learned 
the  tongue  of  the  family  into  which  they  had  newly 
entered?  Were  they  for  those  who  fought  the  rules 

181 


THE   PRECIPICE 

and  shirked  the  cares  and  dug  for  themselves  a  pit  of 
sorrow?  She  believed  they  were  for  all.  She  could 
not  countenance  disinheritance.  Yes,  always,  in 
high  places  and  low,  among  friends  and  enemies,  this 
sad,  kind,  patient,  quiet  woman,  Jane  Addams,  of 
Hull  House,  had  preached  the  indissolubility  of  the 
civic  family.  Kate  had  listened  and  learned.  Nay, 
more,  she  had  added  her  own  interpretations.  She 
was  young,  strong,  brave,  untaught  by  rebuff,  and 
she  had  the  happy  and  beautiful  insolence  of  those 
who  have  not  known  defeat.  She  said  things  Jane 
Addams  would  have  hesitated  to  say.  She  lacked  the 
fine  courtesy  of  the  elder  woman ;  but  she  made,  for 
that  very  reason,  a  more  dramatic  propaganda. 

Kate  had  known  what  it  was  to  tramp  the  streets 
in  rain  and  wind ;  she  had  known  what  it  was  to  face 
infection  and  drunken  rage ;  she  had  looked  on  sights 
both  piteous  and  obscene ;  but  she  had  now  begun  — 
and  much,  much  sooner  than  was  usual  with  workers 
in  her  field  —  to  reap  some  of  the  rewards  of  toil. 

Soon  or  late  things  in  this  life  resolve  themselves 
into  a  question  of  personality.  History  and  art, 
success  and  splendor,  plenitude  and  power,  righteous 
ness  and  immortal  martyrdom,  are  all,  in  the  last 
resolve,  personality  and  nothing  more.  Kate  was 
having  her  swift  rewards  because  of  that  same  inde 
scribable,  incontestable  thing.  The  friendship  of  re 
markable  women  and  men  —  women,  particularly 
— was  coming  to  her.  Fine  things  were  being  expected 

182 


THE  PRECIPICE 

of  her.  She  had  a  vitality  which  indicated  genius 
—  that  is,  if  genius  is  intensity,  as  some  hold.  At 
any  rate,  she  was  vividly  alert,  naturally  eloquent, 
physically  capable  of  impressing  her  personality 
upon  others. 

She  thought  little  of  this,  however.  She  merely 
enjoyed  the  rewards  as  they  came,  and  she  was 
unfeignedly  surprised  when,  on  her  way  to  Washing 
ton,  whither  she  traveled  with  many  others,  her 
society  was  sought  by  those  whom  she  had  long 
regarded  with  something  akin  to  awe.  She  did  not 
guess  how  her  enthusiasm  and  fresh  originality  stim 
ulated  persons  of  lower  vitality  and  more  timid 
imagination. 

At  Washington  she  had  a  signal  triumph.  The  day 
of  her  speech  found  the  hall  in  which  the  conven 
tion  was  held  crowded  with  a  company  including 
many  distinguished  persons  —  among  them,  the 
President  of  the  United  States.  Kate  had  expected 
to  suffer  rather  badly  from  stage  fright,  but  a  sense 
of  her  opportunity  gave  her  courage.  She  talked,  in 
her  direct  "Silvertree  method,"  as  Marna  called  it, 
of  the  ignorance  of  mothers,  the  waste  of  children, 
the  vast  economic  blunder  which  for  one  reason  and 
another  even  the  most  progressive  of  States  had 
been  so  slow  to  perceive.  She  said  that  if  the  commer 
cial  and  agricultural  interests  of  the  country  were 
fostered  and  protected,  why  should  not  the  most 
valuable  product  of  all  interests,  human  creatures, 
be  given  at  least  an  equal  amount  of  consideration. 

183 


THE  PRECIPICE 

In  her  own  way,  which  by  a  happy  instinct  never 
included  what  was  hackneyed,  she  drew  a  picture 
of  the  potentialities  of  the  child  considered  merely 
from  an  economic  point  of  view,  and  in  impulsive 
words  she  made  plain  the  need  for  a  bureau,  which 
she  suggested  should  be  virtually  a  part  of  the 
governmental  structure,  in  which  should  be  vested 
authority  for  the  care  of  children,  —  the  Bureau  of 
Children,  she  denominated  it,  —  a  scientific  exten 
sion  of  motherhood! 

It  seemed  a  part  of  the  whole  stirring  experience 
that  she  should  be  asked  with  several  others  to  lunch 
at  the  White  House  with  the  President  and  his  wife. 
The  President,  it  appeared,  was  profoundly  inter 
ested.  A  quiet  man,  with  a  judicial  mind,  he  per 
ceived  the  essential  truth  of  Kate's  propaganda.  He 
had,  indeed,  thought  of  something  similar  himself, 
though  he  had  not  formulated  it.  He  went  so  far  as 
to  express  a  desire  that  this  useful  institution  might 
attain  realization  while  he  was  yet  in  the  presidential 
chair. 

"  I  would  like  to  ask  you  unofficially,  Miss  Barring- 
ton,"  he  said  at  parting,  "if  you  are  one  to  whom 
responsibility  is  agreeable?" 

"Oh,"  cried  Kate,  taken  aback,  "how  do  I  know? 
I  am  so  young,  Mr.  President,  and  so  inexperienced ! " 

"We  must  all  be  that  at  some  time  or  other," 
smiled  the  President.  "But  it  is  in  youth  that  the 
ideas  come;  and  enthusiasm  has  a  value  which  is 
often  as  great  as  experience." 

184 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"Ideas  are  accidents,  Mr.  President,"  answered 
Kate.  "It  does  n't  follow  that  one  can  carry  out  a 
plan  because  she  has  seen  a  vision." 

"No,"  admitted  the  President,  shaking  hands 
with  her.  "But  you  don't  look  to  me  like  a  woman 
who  would  let  a  vision  go  to  waste.  You  will  follow 
it  up  with  all  the  power  that  is  in  you." 

It  happened  that  Kate's  propaganda  appealed  to 
the  popular  imagination.  The  papers  took  it  up; 
they  made  much  of  the  President's  interest  in  it; 
they  wrote  articles  concerning  the  country  girl  who 
had  come  up  to  town,  and  who,  with  a  simple  faith 
and  courage,  had  worked  among  the  unfortunate  and 
the  delinquent,  and  whose  native  eloquence  had 
made  her  a  favorite  with  critical  audiences.  They 
printed  her  picture  and  idealized  her  in  the  interests 
of  news. 

A  lonely,  gruff  old  man  in  Silvertree  read  of  it, 
and  when  the  drawn  curtains  had  shut  him  away 
from  the  scrutiny  of  his  neighbors,  he  walked  the 
floor,  back  and  forth,  following  the  worn  track  in 
the  dingy  carpet,  thinking. 

They  talked  of  it  at  the  Caravansary,  and  were 
proud ;  and  many  men  and  women  who  had  met  her 
by  chance,  or  had  watched  her  with  interest,  openly 
rejoiced. 

•  "They're  coming  on,  the  Addams  breed  of  citi 
zens,"  said  they.  "Here's  a  new  one  with  the  trick 
—  whatever  it  is  —  of  making  us  think  and  care  and 

185 


THE  PRECIPICE 

listen.  She's  getting  at  the  roots  of  our  disease,  and 
it's  partly  because  she's  a  woman.  She  sees  that  it 
has  to  be  right  with  the  children  if  it's  to  be  right 
with  the  family.  Long  live  the  Addams  breed!" 

Friends  wired  their  congratulations,  and  their 
comments  were  none  the  less  acceptable  because  they 
were  premature.  Many  wrote  her;  Ray  McCrea, 
alone,  of  her  intimate  associates,  was  silent.  Kate 
guessed  why,  but  she  lacked  time  to  worry.  She  only 
knew  that  her  great  scheme  was  afoot  —  that  it 
went.  But  she  would  have  been  less  than  mortal  if  she 
had  not  felt  a  thrill  of  commingled  apprehension  and 
satisfaction  at  the  fact  that  Kate  Barrington,  late 
of  Silvertree  and  its  gossiping,  hectoring,  wistful 
circles,  was  in  the  foreground.  She  had  had  an  Idea 
which  could  be  utilized  in  the  high  service  of  the 
world,  and  the  most  utilitarian  and  idealistic  public 
in  the  world  had  seized  upon  it. 

So,  naturally  enough,  the  affairs  of  Honora  Ful- 
ham  became  somewhat  blurred  to  Kate's  perception. 
Besides,  she  was  unable  to  decide  what  to  do.  She 
had  heard  that  one  should  never  interfere  between 
husband  and  wife.  Moreover,  she  was  very  young, 
and  she  believed  in  her  friends.  Others  might  do 
wrong,  but  .'not  one's  chosen.  People  of  her  own  sort 
had  temptations,  doubtless,  but  they  overcame  them. 
That  was  their  business  —  that  was  their  obligation. 
She  might  proclaim  herself  a  democrat,  but  she  was 
a  moral  aristocrat,  at  any  rate.  She  depended  upon 
those  in  her  class  to  do  right. 

1 86 


THE   PRECIPICE 

She  was  a  trifle  chilled  when  she  returned  to  find 
how  little  time  Honora  had  to  give  to  her  unfolding 
of  the  great  new  scheme.  Honora  had  her  own  ex 
citement.  Her  wonderful  experiment  was  drawing  to 
a  culmination.  Honora  could  talk  of  nothing  else. 
If  Kate  wanted  to  promulgate  a  scheme  for  the 
caring  for  the  Born,  very  well.  Honora  had  a  tremen 
dous  business  with  the  Unborn.  So  she  talked  Kate 
down. 


XVI 

THEN  came  the  day  of  Honora's  victory! 

It  had  been  long  expected,  yet  when  it  came  it 
had  the  effect  of  a  miracle.  It  was,  however,  a 
miracle  which  she  realized.  She  was  burningly 
aware  that  her  great  moment  had  come. 

She  left  the  lights  flaring  in  the  laboratory,  and, 
merely  stopping  to  put  the  catch  on  the  door,  ran 
down  the  steps,  fastening  her  linen  coat  over  her 
working  dress  as  she  went.  David  would  be  at 
home.  He  would  be  resting,  perhaps,  —  she  hoped 
so.  For  days  he  had  been  feverish  and  strange,  and 
she  had  wondered  if  he  were  tormented  by  that 
sense  of  world-stress  which  was  forever  driving  him. 
Was  there  no  achievement  that  would  satisfy  him, 
she  wondered.  Yes,  yes,  he  must  be  satisfied  now! 
Moreover,  he  should  have  all  the  credit.  To  have 
found  the  origin  of  life,  though  only  in  a  voiceless 
creature,  —  a  reptile,  —  was  not  that  an  unheard-oi 
victory?  She  would  claim  no  credit;  for  without  him 
and  his  daring  to  inspire  her  she  would  not  have 
dreamed  of  such  an  experiment. 

Of  course,  she  might  have  telephoned  to  him,  but 
it  never  so  much  as  occurred  to  her  to  do  that.  She 
wanted  to  cry  the  words  into  his  ear:  — 

"We  have  it !  The  secret  is  ours !  There  is  a  hidden 
door  into  the  house  of  life  —  and  we've  opened  it!" 

1 88 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Oh,  what  treasured,  ancient  ideas  fell  with  the 
development  of  this  new  fact!  She  did  not  want  to 
think  of  that,  because  of  those  who,  in  the  rearrange 
ment  of  understanding,  must  suffer.  But  as  for  her, 
she  would  be  bold  to  face  it,  as  the  mate  and  helper 
of  a  great  scientist  should  be.  She  would  set  her  face 
toward  the  sun  and  be  unafraid  of  any  glory.  Her 
thoughts  spun  in  her  head,  her  pulses  throbbed.  She 
did  not  know  that  she  was  thinking  it,  but  really 
she  was  feeling  that  in  a  moment  more  she  would  be 
in  David's  arms.  Only  some  such  gesture  would  serve 
to  mark  the  climax  of  this  great  moment.  Though 
'they  so  seldom  caressed,  though  they  had  indulged 
so  little  in  emotion,  surely  now,  after  their  long 
and  heavy  task,  they  could  have  the  sweet  human 
comforts.  They  could  be  lovers  because  they  were 
happy. 

Perhaps,  after  all,  she  would  only  cry  out  to  him :  — 

"It  will  be  yours,  David  —  the  Norden  prize!" 
That  would  tell  the  whole  thing. 

People  looked  after  her  as  she  sped  down  the 
street.  At  first  they  thought  she  was  in  distress,  but 
a  glance  at  her  shining  face,  its  nobility  accentuated 
by  her  elation,  made  that  idea  untenable.  She  was 
obviously  the  bearer  of  good  tidings. 

Dr.  von  Shierbrand,  passing  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street,  called  out:  — 

"Carrying  the  good  news  from  Ghent  to  Aix?" 

An  old  German  woman,  with  a  laden  basket  on  her 
arm  nodded  cheerfully. 

189 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"It's  a  baby,"  she  said  aloud  to  whoever  might 
care  to  corroborate. 

But  Honora  carried  happiness  greater  than  any 
dreamed,  —  a  secret  of  the  ages,  —  and  the  prize  was 
her  man's  fame. 

She  reached  her  own  door,  and  with  sure,  swift 
hands,  fitted  the  key  in  the  lock.  The  house  wore  a 
welcoming  aspect.  The  drawing-room  was  filled  with 
blossoming  plants,  and  the  diaphanous  curtains 
which  Blue-eyed  Mary  had  hung  at  the  windows 
blew  softly  in  the  breeze.  The  piano,  with  its  sug 
gestive  litter  of  music,  stood  open,  and  across  the 
bench  trailed  one  of  Mary's  flowered  chiffon  scarfs. 

"  David ! "  called  Honora.    "  David ! " 

Two  blithe  baby  voices  answered  her  from  the 
rear  porch.  The  little  ones  were  there  with  Mrs. 
Hays,  and  they  excitedly  welcomed  this  variation 
in  their  day's  programme. 

"In  a  minute,  babies,"  called  Honora.  "  Mamma 
will  come  in  a  minute." 

Yes,  she  and  David  would  go  together  to  the 
babies,  and  they  would  "tell  them,"  the  way  people 
"told  the  bees." 

"  David ! "  she  kept  calling.   "  David ! " 

She  looked  in  the  doors  of  the  rooms  she  passed, 
and  presently  reached  her  own.  As  she  entered,  a 
large  envelope  addressed  in  David's  writing,  con 
spicuously  placed  before  the  face  of  her  desk-clock, 
caught  her  eye.  She  imagined  that  it  contained  some 
bills  or  memoranda,  and  did  not  stop  for  it,  but  ran  on. 

190 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"Oh,  he's  gone  to  town,"  she  cried  with  exaspera 
tion,  "and  I  have  n't  an  idea  where  to  reach  him!" 

Closing  her  ears  to  the  calls  of  the  little  girls,  she 
returned  to  her  own  room  and  shut  herself  in.  She 
was  completely  exasperated  with  the  need  for  pa 
tience.  Never  had  she  so  wanted  David,  and  he  was 
not  there — he  was  not  there  to  hear  that  the  moment 
of  triumph  had  come  for  both  of  them  and  that  they 
were  justified  before  their  world. 

Petulantly  she  snatched  the  envelope  from  the 
desk  and  opened  it.  It  was  neither  bills  nor  memor 
anda  which  fell  out,  but  a  letter.  Surprised,  she  un 
folded  it. 

Her  eyes  swept  it,  not  gathering  its  meaning.  It 
might  have  been  written  in  some  foreign  language, 
so  incomprehensible  did  it  seem.  But  something 
deep  down  in  her  being  trembled  as  if  at  approach 
ing  dissolution  and  sent  up  its  wild  messages  of  alarm. 
Vaguely,  afar  off,  like  the  shouts  of  a  distant  enemy 
on  the  hills,  the  import  besieged  her  spirit. 

"I  must  read  it  again,"  she  said  simply. 

She  went  over  it  slowly,  like  one  deciphering  an 
ancient  hieroglyph. 

"MY  DEAR  HONORA: —  "  (it  ran.) 

"I  am  off  and  away  with  Mary  Morrison.  Will 
this  come  to  you  as  a  complete  surprise?  I  hardly 
think  so.  You  have  been  my  good  comrade  and  as 
sistant;  but  Mary  Morrison  is  my  woman.  I  once 
thought  you  were,  but  there  was  a  mistake  some- 

191 


THE  PRECIPICE 

where.  Either  I  misjudged,  or  you  changed.  I  hope 
you'll  come  across  happiness,  too,  sometime.  I 
never  knew  the  meaning  of  the  word  till  I  met  Mary. 
You  and  I  have  n't  been  able  to  make  each  other 
out.  You  thought  I  was  bound  up  heart  and  soul  in 
the  laboratory.  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  only  a 
fractional  part  of  my  nature  was  concerned  with  it. 
Mary  is  an  unlearned  person  compared  with  you, 
but  she  knew  that,  and  it  is  the  great  fact  for  both 
of  us. 

"It  is  too  bad  about  the  babies.  We  ought  never 
to  have  had  them.  See  that  they  have  a  good  educa 
tion  and  count  on  me  to  help  you.  You  '11  find  an  ac 
count  at  the  bank  in  your  name.  There'll  be  more 
there  for  you  when  that  is  gone. 

"DAVID." 

The  old  German  woman  was  returning,  her  basket 
emptied  of  its  load,  when  Honora  came  down  the 
steps  and  crossed  the  Plaisance. 

"  My  God,"  said  the  old  woman  in  her  own  tongue, 
"the  child  did  not  live!" 

Honora  walked  as  somnambulists  walk,  seeing 
nothing.  But  she  found  her  way  to  the  door  of  the 
laboratory.  The  white  glare  of  the  chemical  lights 
was  over  everything  —  over  all  the  significant, 
familiar  litter  of  the  place.  The  workmanlike  room 
was  alive  and  palpitating  with  the  personality  which 
had  gone  out  from  it  —  the  flaming  personality  of 
David  Fulham. 

192 


THE   PRECIPICE 

The  woman  who  had  sold  her  birthright  of  charm 
and  seduction  for  his  sake  sat  down  to  eat  her  mess 
of  pottage.  Not  that  she  thought  even  as  far  as  that. 
Thought  appeared  to  be  suspended.  As  a  typhoon 
has  its  calm  center,  so  the  mad  tumult  of  her  spirit 
held  a  false  peace.  She  rested  there  in  it,  torpid  as  to 
emotion,  in  a  curious  coma. 

Yet  she  retained  her  powers  of  observation.  She 
took  her  seat  before  the  tanks  in  which  she  had  dem 
onstrated  the  correctness  of  David's  amazing  scienti 
fic  assumption.  Yet  now  the  creatures  that  he  had 
burgeoned  by  his  skill,  usurping,  as  it  might  seem  to 
a  timid  mind,  the  very  function  of  the  Creator, 
looked  absurd  and  futile  —  hateful  even.  For  these 
things,  bearing,  as  it  was  possible,  after  all,  no  rela 
tion  to  actual  life,  had  she  spent  her  days  in  des 
perate  service.  Then,  suddenly,  it  swept  over  her, 
like  a  blasting  wave  of  ignited  gas,  that  she  never 
had  had  the  pure  scientific  flame !  She  had  not  worked 
for  Truth,  but  that  David  might  reap  great  rewards. 
With  her  as  with  the  cave  woman,  the  man's  favor 
was  the  thing!  If  the  cave  woman  won  his  approval 
with  base  service,  she,  the  aspiring  creature  of  mod 
ern  times,  was  no  less  the  slave  of  her  own  subser 
vient  instincts !  And  she  had  failed  as  the  cave  woman 
failed  —  as  all  women  seemed  eventually  to  fail. 
The  ever-repeated  tragedy  of  woman  had  merely 
been  enacted  once  more,  with  herself  for  the  sorry 
heroine. 

Yet  none  of  these  thoughts  was  distinct.  They 
193 


THE  PRECIPICE 

passed  from  her  mind  like  the  spume  puffed  from  the 
wave's  crest.  She  knew  nothing  of  time.  Around  her 
blazed  and  sputtered  the  terrible  white  lights.  The 
day  waned;  the  darkness  fell;  and  when  night  had 
long  passed  its  dark  meridian  and  the  anticipatory 
cocks  began  to  scent  the  dawn  and  to  make  their 
discovery  known,  there  came  a  sharp  knocking  at 
the  door. 

It  shattered  Honora's  horrible  reverie  as  if  it  had 
been  an  explosion.  The  chambers  of  her  ears  quaked 
with  the  reverberations.  She  sprang  to  her  feet  with 
a  scream  which  rang  through  the  silent  building. 

"Let  me  in!  Let  me  in!"  called  a  voice.  "It's 
only  Kate.  Let  me  in,  Honora,  or  I  '11  call  some  one 
to  break  down  the  door." 

Kate  had  mercy  on  that  distorted  face  which  con 
fronted  her.  It  was  not  the  part  of  loyalty  or  friend 
ship  to  look  at  it.  She  turned  out  the  spluttering, 
glaring  lights,  and  quiet  and  shadow  stole  over  the 
room. 

"Well,  Honora,  I  found  the  note  and  I  know  the 
whole  of  your  trouble.  Remember,"  she  said  quietly, 
"it's  your  great  hour.  You  have  a  chance  to  show 
what  you're  made  of  now." 

"What  I'm  made  of!"  said  Honora  brokenly. 
"I'm  like  all  the  women.  I'm  dying  of  jealousy, 
Kate,  —  dying  of  it." 

"Jealousy — you? "cried Kate.  "Why, Honora — " 

"You  thought  I  couldn't  feel  it,  I  suppose, — 
194 


THE  PRECIPICE 

thought  I  was  above  it?  I'm  not  above  anything  — • 
not  anything — "  Her  voice  straggled  off  into  a 
curious,  shameless  sob  with  a  sound  in  it  like  the 
bleating  of  a  lamb. 

"Stop  that!"  said  Kate,  sharply.  "Pull  yourself 
together,  woman.  Don't  be  a  fool." 

"Go  away,"  sobbed  Honora.  "  Don't  stay  here  to 
watch  me.  My  heart  is  broken,  that's  all.  Can't 
you  let  me  alone?" 

"No,  I  can't — I  won't.  Stand  up  and  fight, 
woman.  You  can  be  magnificent,  if  you  want  to.  It 
can't  be  that  you'd  grovel,  Honora." 

"You  know  very  little  of  what  you're  talking 
about,"  cried  Honora,  whipped  into  wholesome  anger 
at  last.  "  I  Ve  been  a  fool  from  the  beginning.  The 
whole  thing's  my  fault." 

"I  don't  see  how." 

Kate  was  getting  her  to  talk;  was  pulling  her  up 
out  of  the  pit  of  shame  and  anguish  into  which  she 
had  fallen.  She  sat  down  in  a  deal  chair  which  stood 
by  the  window,  and  Honora,  without  realizing  it, 
dropped  into  a  chair,  too.  The  neutral  morning  sky 
was  beginning  to  flush  and  the  rosiness  reached 
across  the  lead-gray  lake,  illuminated  the  windows 
of  the  sleeping  houses,  and  tinted  even  the  haggard 
monochrome  of  the  laboratory  with  a  promise  of 
day. 

"Why,  it's  my  fault  because  I  wouldn't  take 
what  was  coming  to  me.  I  would  n't  even  be  what 
I  was  born  to  be!" 

195 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"I  know,"  said  Kate,  "that  you  underwent  some 
sort  of  a  transformation.  What  was  it?" 

She  hardly  expected  an  answer,  but  Honora  de 
veloped  a  perfervid  lucidity. 

"Oh,  Kate,  you've  said  yourself  that  I  was  a  very 
different  girl  when  you  knew  me  first.  I  was  a  stu 
dent  then,  and  an  ambitious  one,  too;  but  there 
was  n't  a  girl  in  this  city  more  ready  for  a  woman's 
r61e  than  I.  I  longed  to  be  loved  —  I  lived  in  the 
idea  of  it.  No  matter  how  hard  I  tried  to  devote  my 
self  to  the  notion  of  a  career,  I  really  was  dreaming 
of  the  happiness  that  was  going  to  come  to  me  when 
—  when  Life  had  done  its  duty  by  me." 

She  spoke  the  words  with  a  dramatic  clearness. 
The  terrific  excitement  she  had  undergone,  and  which 
she  now  held  in  hand,  sharpened  her  faculties.  The 
powers  of  memory  and  of  expression  were  intensified. 
She  fairly  burned  upon  Kate  there  in  the  beautiful, 
disguising  light  of  the  morning.  Her  weary  face  was 
flushed ;  her  eyes  were  luminous.  Her  terrific  sorrow 
put  on  the  mask  of  joy. 

"You  see,  I  loved  David  almost  from  the  first  — 
I  mean  from  the  beginning  of  my  University  work. 
The  first  time  I  saw  him  crossing  the  campus  he  held 
my  attention.  There  was  no  one  else  in  the  least  like 
him,  so  vivid,  so  exotic,  so  almost  fierce.  When  I 
found  out  who  he  was,  I  confess  that  I  directed  my 
studies  so  that  I  should  work  with  him.  Not  that 
I  really  expected  to  know  him  personally,  but  I 
wanted  to  be  near  him  and  have  him  enlarge  life  for 

196 


THE   PRECIPICE 

me.  I  felt  that  it  would  take  on  new  meanings  if 
I  could  only  hear  his  interpretations  of  it." 

Kate  shivered  with  sympathy  at  the  woman's 
passion,  and  something  like  envy  stirred  in  her.  Here 
was  a  world  of  delight  and  torment  of  which  she 
knew  nothing,  and  beside  it  her  own  existence,  rest 
less  and  eager  though  it  had  been,  seemed  a  meager 
affair. 

"Well,  the  idea  burned  in  me  for  months  and  years. 
But  I  hid  it.  No  one  guessed  anything  about  it.  Cer 
tainly  David  knew  nothing  of  it.  Then,  when  I  was 
beginning  on  my  graduate  work,  I  was  with  him  daily. 
But  he  never  seemed  to  see  me  —  he  saw  only  my 
work,  and  he  seldom  praised  that.  He  expected  it  to 
be  well  done.  As  for  me,  I  was  satisfied.  The  mere 
fact  that  we  were  comrades,  forced  to  think  of  the 
same  matters  several  hours  of  each  day,  contented 
me.  I  could  n't  imagine  what  life  would  be  away  from 
him ;  and  I  was  afraid  to  think  of  him  in  relation  to 
myself." 

"Afraid?" 

"Afraid  —  I  mean  just  that.  I  knew  others  thought 
him  a  genius  in  relation  to  his  work.  But  I  knew  he 
was  a  genius  in  regard  to  life.  I  felt  sure  that,  if  he 
turned  that  intensity  of  his  upon  life  instead  of  upon 
science,  he  would  be  a  destructive  force  —  a  high  ex 
plosive.  This  idea  of  mine  was  confirmed  in  time.  It 
happened  one  evening  when  a  number  of  us  were  over 
in  the  Scammon  Garden  listening  to  the  out-of-door 
players.  I  grew  tired  of  sitting  and  slipped  from  my 

197 


THE   PRECIPICE 

seat  to  wander  about  a  little  in  the  darkness.  I  had 
reached  the  very  outer  edge  of  seats  and  was  stand 
ing  there  enjoying  the  garden,  when  I  overheard 
two  persons  talking  together.  A  man  said :  '  Fulham 
will  go  far  if  he  does  n't  meet  a  woman.'  'Nonsense,' 
the  woman  said ; '  he 's  an  anchorite.'  '  An  inflamma 
tory  one,'  the  man  returned.  'Mind,  I  don't  say  he 
knows  it.  Probably  he  thinks  he 's  cast  for  the  scien 
tific  role  to  the  end  of  his  days,  but  I  know  the  fellow 
better  than  he  does  himself.  I  tell  you,  if  a  woman 
of  power  gets  hold  of  him,  he  '11  be  as  drunk  as  Ab6- 
lard  with  the  madness  of  it.  Over  in  Europe  they  al 
low  for  that  sort  of  thing.  They  let  a  man  make  an 
art  of  loving.  Here  they  insist  that  it  shall  be  inci 
dental.  But  Fulham  won't  care  about  conventional 
ities  if  the  idea  ever  grips  him.  He's  born  for  love, 
and  it's  a  lucky  thing  for  the  University  that  he 
has  n't  found  it  out.'  'We  ought  to  plan  a  sane  and 
reasonable  marriage  for  him,'  said  the  woman. 
'Would  n't  that  be  a  good  compromise?'  ' It  would 
be  his  salvation,'  the  man  said." 

Honora  poured  the  words  out  with  such  rapidity 
that  Kate  hardly  could  follow  her. 

"How  you  remember  it  all!"  broke  in  Kate. 

''If  I  remember  anything,  wouldn't  it  be  that? 
As  I  say,  it  confirmed  me  in  what  I  already  had 
guessed.  I  felt  fierce  to  protect  him.  My  jealousy 
was  awake  in  me.  I  watched  him  more  closely  than 
ever.  His  daring  in  the  laboratory  grew  daily.  He 
talked  openly  about  matters  that  other  men  were 

198 


THE  PRECIPICE 

hardly  daring  to  dream  of,  and  his  brain  seemed  to 
expand  every  day  like  some  strange  plant  under 
calcium  rays.  I  thought  what  a  frightful  loss  to 
science  it  would  be  if  the  wilder  qualities  of  his  na 
ture  got  the  upper  hand,  and  I  wondered  how  I  could 
endure  it  if — " 

She  drew  herself  up  with  a  horror  of  realization. 
The  thing  that  so  long  ago  she  had  thought  she  could 
not  endure  was  at  last  upon  her!  Her  teeth  began 
to  chatter  again,  and  her  hands,  which  had  been 
clasped,  to  twist  themselves  with  the  writhing  mo 
tion  of  the  mentally  distraught. 

"Go  on!"  commanded  Kate.  "What  happened 
next?" 

"I  let  him  love  me!" 

"  I  thought  you  said  he  had  n't  noticed  you." 

"  He  had  n't;  and  I  did  n't  talk  with  him  more  than 
usual  or  coquette  with  him.  But  I  let  down  the  bar 
riers  in  my  mind.  I  never  had  been  ashamed  of  lov 
ing  him,  but  now  I  willed  my  love  to  stream  out 
toward  him  like  —  like  banners  of  light.  If  I  had 
called  him  aloud,  he  could  n't  have  answered  more 
quickly.  He  turned  toward  me,  and  I  saw  all  his 
being  set  my  way.  Oh,  it  was  like  a  transfiguration ! 
Then,  as  soon  as  ever  I  saw  that,  I  began  holding 
him  steady.  I  let  him  feel  that  we  were  to  keep  on 
working  side  by  side,  quietly  using  and  increasing 
our  knowledge.  I  made  him  scourge  his  love  back; 
I  made  him  keep  his  mind  uppermost;  I  saved  him 
from  himself." 

199 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"Oh,  Honora!  And  then  you  were  married?" 
"And  then  we  were  married.  You  remember  how 
sudden  it  was,  and  how  wonderful ;  but  not  wonder 
ful  in  the  way  it  might  have  been.  I  kept  guard 
over  myself.  I  would  n't  wear  becoming  dresses;  I 
would  n't  even  let  him  dream  what  I  really  was  like 

—  would  n't  let  him  see  me  with  my  hair  down 
because  I  knew  it  was  beautiful.  I  combed  it  plainly 
and  dressed  like  a  nurse  or  a  nun,  and  every  day  I 
went  to  the  laboratory  with  him  and  kept  him  at  his 
work.    He  had  got  hold  of  this  dazzling  idea  of  the. 
extraneous  development  of  life,  and  he  set  himself 
to  prove  it.    I  worked  early  and  late  to  help  him.   I 
let  him  go  out  and  meet  people  and  reap  honors,  and 
I  stayed  and  did  the  drudgery.    But  don't  imagine 
I  was  a  martyr.  I  liked  it.  I  belonged  to  him.  It  was 
my  honor  and  delight  to  work  for  him.    I  wanted 
him  to  have  all  of  the  credit.    The  more  important 
the  result,  the  more  satisfaction  I  should  have  in 
proclaiming  him  the  victor.  I  was  really  at  the  old 
business  of  woman,  subordinating  myself  to  a  man 
I  loved.  But  I  was  doing  it  in  a  new  way,  do  you  see? 
I  was  setting  aside  the  privilege  of  my  womanhood 
for  him,  refraining  from  making  any  merely  feminine 
appeal.   You  remember  hearing  Dr.  von  Shierbrand 
say  there  was  but  one  way  woman  should  serve  man 

—  the  way  in  which  Marguerite  served  Faust?    It 
made  me  laugh.    I  knew  a  harder  road  than  that  to 
walk  —  a  road  of  more  complete  abnegation." 

"But  the  babies  came." 
200 


"Yes,  the  babies  came.  I  was  afraid  even  to  let 
him  be  as  happy  in  them  as  he  wanted  to  be.  I  held 
him  away.  I  would  n't  let  him  dwell  on  the  thought 
of  me  as  the  mother  of  those  darlings.  I  dared  not 
even  be  as  happy  myself  as  I  wished,  but  I  had  secret 
joys  that  I  told  him  nothing  about,  because  I  was 
saving  him  for  himself  and  his  work.  But  at  what  a 
cost,  Kate!" 

"Honora,  it  was  sacrilegious!" 

Honora  leaped  to  her  feet  again. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  cried,  "it  was.  And  now  all  has 
happened  according  to  prophecy,  and  he 's  gone  with 
this  woman !  He  thinks  she 's  his  mate,  but,  I  —  I 
was  his  mate.  And  I  defrauded  him.  So  now  he 's 
taken  her  because  she  was  kind,  because  she  loved 
him,  because  —  she  was  beautiful!" 

"She  looks  like  you." 

" Don't  I  know  it?  It's  my  beauty  that  he's  gone 
away  with  —  the  beauty  I  would  n't  let  him  see.  Of 
course,  he  doesn't  realize  it.  He  only  knows  life 
cheated  him,  and  now  he's  trying  to  make  up  to 
himself  for  what  he's  lost." 

"Oh,  can  you  excuse  him  like  that?" 

The  daylight  was  hardening,  and  it  threw  Ho- 
nora's  drawn  face  into  repellent  relief. 

"  I  don't  excuse  him  at  all ! "  she  said.  "  I  condemn 
him!  I  condemn  him!  With  all  his  intellect,  to  be 
such  a  fool !  And  to  be  so  cruel  —  so  hideously 
cruel!" 

But  she  checked  herself  sharply.  She  looked  around 
20 1 


THE  PRECIPICE 

her  with  eyes  that  seemed  to  take  in  things  visible 
and  invisible  —  all  that  had  been  enacted  in  that 
curious  room,  all  the  paraphernalia,  all  the  signi 
ficance  of  those  uncompleted,  important  experiments. 
Then  suddenly  her  face  paled  and  yet  burned  with 
light. 

"  But  I  know  a  great  revenge,"  she  said.  "  I  know 
a  revenge  that  will  break  his  heart!" 

"Don't  say  things  like  that,"  begged  Kate.  "I 
don't  recognize  you  when  you're  like  that." 

"When  you  hear  what  the  revenge  is,  you  will," 
said  Honora  proudly. 

"We're  going  now,"  Kate  told  her  with  maternal 
decision.  "Here's  your  coat." 

"Home?"  She  began  trembling  again  and  the 
haunted  look  crept  back  into  her  eyes. 

Kate  paid  no  heed.  She  marched  Honora  swiftly 
along  the  awakened  streets  and  into  the  bereaved 
house,  past  the  desecrated  chamber  where  David's 
bed  stood  beside  his  wife's,  up  to  Kate's  quiet  cham 
ber.  Honora  stretched  herself  out  with  an  almost 
moribund  gesture.  Then  the  weight  of  her  sorrow 
covered  her  like  a  blanket.  She  slept  the  strange 
deep  sleep  of  those  who  dare  not  face  the  waking 
truth. 


XVII 

KATE,  who  was  facing  it,  telegraphed  to  Karl 
Wander.  It  was  all  she  could  think  of  to  do. 

"  Can  you  come?  "  she  asked.  "  David  Fulham  has 
gone  away  with  Mary  Morrison.  Honora  needs  you. 
You  are  the  cousin  of  both  women.  Thought  I  had 
better  turn  to  you."  She  was  brutally  frank,  but  it 
never  occurred  to  her  to  mince  matters  there.  How 
ever,  where  the  public  was  concerned,  her  policy  was 
one  of  secrecy.  She  called,  for  example,  on  the 
President  of  the  University,  who  already  knew  the 
whole  story. 

"Can't  we  keep  it  from  being  blazoned  abroad?" 
she  appealed  to  him.  "  Mrs.  Fulham  will  suffer  more 
if  he  has  to  undergo  public  shame  than  she  possibly 
could  suffer  from  her  own  desertion.  She's 'tragically 
angry,  but  that  would  n't  keep  her  from  wanting  to 
protect  him.  We  must  try  to  prevent  public  expo 
sure.  It  will  save  her  the  worst  of  torments."  She 
brooded  sadly  over  the  idea,  her  aspect  broken  and 
pathetic. 

The  President  looked  at  her  kindly. 

"Did  she  say  so?" 

"Oh,  she  didn't  need  to  say  so!"  cried  Kate. 
"Any  one  would  know  that." 

"You  mean,  any  good  woman  would  know  that. 
203 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Of  course,  I  can  give  it  out  that  Fulham  has  been 
called  abroad  suddenly,  but  it  places  me  in  a  bad 
position.  I  don't  feel  very  much  like  lying  for  him, 
and  I  shan't  be  thought  any  too  well  of  if  I  'm  found 
out.  I  should  like  to  place  myself  on  record  as  be 
friending  Mrs.  Fulham,  not  her  husband." 

"But  don't  you  see  that  you  are  befriending  her 
when  you  shield  him?" 

"Woman's  logic,"  said  the  President.  "  It  has  too 
many  turnings  for  my  feeble  masculine  intellect. 
But  I've  great  confidence  in  you,  Miss  Barrington. 
You  seem  to  be  rather  a  specialist  in  domestic  rela 
tions.  If  you  say  Mrs.  Fulham  will  be  happier  for 
having  me  bathe  neck-deep  in  lies,  I  suppose  I  shall 
have  to  oblige  you.  Shall  it  be  the  lie  circumstantial? 
Do  you  wish  to  specify  the  laboratory  to  which  he 
has  gone?" 

Kate  blushed  with  sudden  contrition. 

" Oh,  I  '11  not  ask  you  to  do  it !"  she  cried.  "Truth 
is  best,  of  course.  I  'm  not  naturally  a  trimmer  and 
a  compromiser  —  but,  poor  Honora !  I  pity  her 
so!" 

Her  lips  quivered  like  a  child's  and  the  tears  stood 
in  her  eyes.  She  had  arisen  to  go  and  the  President 
shook  hands  with  her  without  making  any  promise. 
However  the  next  day  a  paragraph  appeared  in  the 
University  Daily  to  the  effect  that  Professor  Fulham 
had  been  called  to  France  upon  important  laboratory 
matters. 

At  the  Caravansary  they  had  scented  tragedy,  and 
204 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Kate  faced  them  with  the  paragraph.  She  laid  a 
marked  copy  of  the  paper  at  each  place,  and  when 
all  were  assembled,  she  called  attention  to  it.  They 
looked  at  her  with  questioning  eyes. 

"Of  course,"  said  Dr.  von  Shierbrand,  flicking  his 
mustache,  "this  is  n't  true,  Miss  Harrington." 

"No,"  said  Kate,  and  faced  them  with  her  chin 
tilted  high. 

"But  you  wish  us  to  pretend  to  believe  it?" 

"If  you  please,  dear  friends,"  Kate  pleaded. 

"We  shall  say  that  Fulham  is  in  France !  And  what 
are  we  to  say  about  Miss  Morrison?" 

"Who  will  inquire?  If  any  one  should,  say  that 
a  friend  desired  her  as  a  traveling  companion." 

"Nothing,"  said  Von  Shierbrand,  "is  easier  for 
me  than  truth." 

"Please  don't  be  witty,"  cried  Kate  testily,  "and 
don't  sneer.  Remember  that  nothing  is  so  terrible 
as  temptation.  I'm  sure  I  see  proof  of  that  every 
day  among  my  poor  people.  After  all,  does  n't  the 
real  surprise  lie  in  the  number  that  resist  it?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  young  German 
gently.  "  I  shall  not  sneer.  I  shall  not  even  be  witty. 
I  'm  on  your  side,  —  that  is  to  say,  on  Mrs.  Fulham's 
side,  -  -  and  I  '11  say  anything  you  want  me  to 
say." 

"I  beg  you  all,"  replied  Kate,  sweeping  the  table 
with  an  imploring  glance,  "to  say  as  little  as  pos 
sible.  Be  matter-of-fact  if  any  one  questions  you. 
And,  whatever  you  do,  shield  Honora." 

205 


THE  PRECIPICE 

They  gave  their  affirmation  solemnly,  and  the  next 
day  Honora  appeared  among  them,  pallid  and  cour 
ageous.  They  were  simple  folk  for  all  of  their  learn 
ing.  Sorrow  was  sorrow  to  them.  Honora  was  wid 
owed  by  an  accident  more  terrible  than  death.  No 
mockery,  no  affected  solicitude  detracted  from  the 
efficacy  of  their  sympathy.  If  they  saw  torments 
of  jealousy  in  this  betrayed  woman's  eyes,  they 
averted  their  gaze;  if  they  saw  shame,  they  gave  it 
other  interpretations.  Moreover,  Kate  was  constantly 
beside  her,  eagle-keen  for  slight  or  neglect.  Her  fierce 
fealty  guarded  the  stricken  woman  on  every  side. 
She  had  the  imposing  piano  which  Mary  had  rented 
carted  back  to  the  warehouse  to  lie  in  deserved  silence 
with  Mary's  seductive  harmonies  choked  in  its  re 
cording  fibre;  she  stripped  from  their  poles  the  cur 
tains  Mary  had  hung  at  the  drawing-room  windows 
and  burned  them  in  the  furnace ;  the  miniatures,  the 
plaster  casts,  all  the  artistic  rubbish  which  Mary's 
exuberance  had  impelled  her  to  collect,  were  tossed 
out  for  the  waste  wagons  to  cart  away.  The  co 
quetry  of  the  room  gave  way  to  its  old-time  austerity; 
once  more  Honora's  room  possessed  itself. 

A  wire  came  from  Karl  Wander  addressed  to  Kate. 

"Fractured  leg.  Can't  go  to  you.  Honora  and 
the  children  must  come  here  at  once.  Have  writ 
ten." 

That  seemed  to  give  Honora  a  certain  repose  — 
it  was  at  least  a  spar  to  which  to  cling.  With  Kate's 

206 


THE   PRECIPICE 

help  she  got  over  to  the  laboratory  and  put  the  finish 
ing  touches  on  things  there.  The  President  detailed 
two  of  Fulham's  most  devoted  disciples  to  make  a 
record  of  their  professor's  experiments. 

"Fulham  shall  have  full  credit,"  the  President 
assured  Honora,  calling  on  her  and  comforting  her 
in  the  way  in  which  he  perceived  she  needed  com 
fort.  "He  shall  have  credit  for  everything." 

"He  should  have  the  Norden  prize,"  Honora 
cried,  her  hot  eyes  blazing  above  her  hectic  cheeks. 
"  I  want  him  to  have  the  prize,  and  I  want  to  be  the 
means  of  getting  it  for  him.  I  told  Miss  Harrington 
I  meant  to  have  my  revenge,  and  that 's  it.  How  can 
he  stand  it  to  know  he  ruined  my  life  and  that  I  got 
the  prize  for  him?  A  generous  man  would  find  that 
torture!  You  understand,  I'm  willing  to  torture 
him  —  in  that  way.  He 's  subtle  enough  to  feel  the 
sting  of  it." 

The  President  looked  at  her  compassionately. 

"  It's  a  noble  revenge  —  and  a  poignant  one,"  he 
agreed. 

"It's  not  noble,"  repudiated  Honora.  "It's  ter 
rible.  For  he'll  remember  who  did  the  work." 

But  shame  overtook  her  and  she  sobbed  deeply 
and  rendingly.  And  the  President,  who  had  thought 
of  himself  as  a  mild  man,  left  the  house  regretting 
that  duels  were  out  of  fashion. 

Then  the  letter  came  from  the  West.  Kate  carried 
it  up  to  Honora,  who  was  in  her  room  crouched  be- 

207 


THE  PRECIPICE 

fore  the  window,  peering  out  at  the  early  summer  city- 
scape  with  eyes  which  tried  in  vain  to  observe  the 
passing  motors,  and  the  people  hastening  along  the 
Plaisance,  but  which  registered  little. 

"Your  cousin's  letter,  woman,  dear,"  announced 
Kate. 

Honora  looked  up  quickly,  her  vagueness  momen 
tarily  dissipated.  Kate  always  had  noticed  that 
Wander's  name  had  power  to  claim  Honora's  interest. 
He  could  make  folk  listen,  even  though  he  spoke  by 
letter.  She  felt,  herself,  that  whatever  he  said,  she 
would  listen  to. 

Honora  tore  open  the  envelope  with  untidy  eager 
ness,  and  after  she  had  read  the  letter  she  handed  it 
silently  to  Kate.  It  ran  thus :  — 

"CousiN  HONORA,  MY  DEAR  AND  PRIZED:  — 

"Rather  a  knock-out  blow,  eh?  I  shan't  waste 
my  time  in  telling  you  how  I  feel  about  it.  If  you 
want  me  to  follow  David  and  kill  him,  I  will  —  as 
soon  as  this  damned  leg  gets  well.  Not  that  the  job 
appeals  to  me.  I  'm  sensitive  about  family  honor,  but 
killing  D.  won't  mend  things.  As  I  spell  the  matter 
out,  there  was  a  blunder  somewhere.  Perhaps  you 
know  where  it  was. 

"Of  course  you  feel  as  if  you'd  gone  into  bank 
ruptcy.  Women  invest  in  happiness  as  men  do  in 
property,  and  to  '  go  broke '  the  way  you  have  is  dis 
concerting.  It  would  overwhelm  some  women;  but 
it  won't  you  —  not  if  you  're  the  same  Honora  I 

208 


THE  PRECIPICE 

played  with  when  I  was  a  boy.  You  had  pluck  for 
two  of  us  trousered  animals  —  were  the  best  of  the 
lot.  I  want  you  to  come  here  and  stake  out  a  new 
claim.  You  may  get  to  be  a1  millionaire  yet  —  in 
good  luck  and  happiness,  I  mean. 

"I'm  taking  it  for  granted  that  you  and  the 
babies  will  soon  be  on  your  way  to  me,  and  I  'm  put 
ting  everything  in  readiness.  The  fire  is  laid,  the  cup 
board  stored,  the  latchstring  is  hanging  where  you  '11 
see  it  as  you  cross  the  state  line. 

"You  understand  I'm  being  selfish  in  this.  I  not 
only  want,  but  I  need,  you.  You  always  seemed 
more  like  a  sister  than  a  cousin  to  me,  and  to  have 
you  come  here  and  make  a  home  out  of  my  house 
seems  too  good  to  be  true. 

"There  are  a  lot  of  things  to  be  learned  out  here, 
but  I'll  not  give  them  a  name.  All  I  can  say  is, 
living  with  these  mountains  makes  you  different. 
They  're  like  men  and  women,  I  take  it.  (The  moun 
tains,  I  mean.)  The  more  they  are  ravaged  by  in 
ternal  fires  and  scoured  by  snow-slides,  the  more 
interesting  they  become. 

"Then  it's  so  still  it  gives  you  a  chance  to  think, 
and  by  the  time  you  Ve  had  a  good  bout  of  it,  you 
find  out  what  is  really  important  and  what  is  n't. 
You  '11  understand  after  you  've  been  here  awhile. 

"  I  mean  what  I  say,  Honora.  I  want  you  and  the 
babies.  Come  ahead.  Don't  think.  Work  —  pack 
—  and  get  out  here  where  Time  can  have  a  chance 
at  your  wounds. 

209 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"Am  I  making  you  understand  how  I  feel  for  you? 
I  guess  you  know  your  old  playmate  and  coz, 

"KARL  WANDER. 

"P.S.  My  dried-up  old  bach  heart  jumps  at  the 
thought  of  having  the  kiddies  in  the  house.  I  '11  bet 
they're  wonders." 

There  was  an  inclosure  for  Kate.    It  read :  — 

"My  DEAR  Miss  HARRINGTON :  — 

"I  see  that  you're  one  of  the  folk  who  can  be 
counted  on.  You  help  Honora  out  of  this  and  then 
tell  me  what  I  can  do  for  you.  I  'd  get  to  her  some 
way  even  with  this  miserable  plaster-of- Paris  leg  of 
mine  if  you  were  n't  there.  But  I  know  you  '11  play 
the  cards  right.  Can't  you  come  with  her  and  stay 
with  her  awhile  till  she's  more  used  to  the  change? 
You  'd  be  as  welcome  as  sunlight.  But  I  don't  even 
need  to  say  that.  I  saw  you  only  a  moment,  yet 
I  think  you  know  that  I'd  count  it  a  rich  day 
if  I  could  see  you  again.  You  are  one  of  those  who 
understand  a  thing  without  having  it  bellowed  by 
megaphone. 

"Don't  mind  my  emphatic  English.  I'm  upset. 
I  feel  like  murdering  a  man,  and  the  sensation  is  n't 
pleasant.  Using  language  is  too  common  out  here  to 
attract  attention  —  even  on  the  part  of  the  man  who 
uses  it.  Oh,  my  poor  Honora!  Look  after  her,  Miss 
Barrington,  and  add  all  my  pity  and  love  to  your 
own.  It  will  make  quite  a  sum.  Yours  faithfully, 

"KARL  WANDER." 

CIO 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"He  wrote  to  you,  too?"  inquired  Honora  when 
Kate  had  perused  her  note. 

"Yes,  begging  me  to  hasten  you  on  your  way." 

"Shall  I  go?" 

"What  else  offers?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Honora  in  her  dead  voice.  "If  I 
kept  a  diary,  I  would  be  like  that  sad  king  of  France 
who  recorded  'Rien*  each  day." 

Kate  made  a  practical  answer. 

"We  must  pack,"  she  said. 

" But  the  house— " 

"Let  it  stand  empty  if  the  owner  can't  find  a 
tenant.  Pay  your  rent  till  he  does,  if  that 's  in  the 
contract.  What  difference  does  all  that  make?  Get 
out  where  you'll  have  a  chance  to  recuperate." 

"Oh,  Kate,  do  you  think  I  ever  shall?  How  does 
a  person  recuperate  from  shame?" 

"There  isn't  really  any  shame  to  you  in  what 
others  do,"  Kate  said. 

" But  you  —  you'll  have  to  go  somewhere." 

"So  I  shall.  Don't  worry  about  me.  I  shall  take 
good  care  of  myself." 

Honora  looked  about  her  with  the  face  of  a  spent 
runner. 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  'm  going  to  go  through  with  it 
all,"  she  said,  shuddering. 

So  Kate  found  packers  and  movers  and  the  break- 
ing-up  of  the  home  was  begun.  It  was  an  ordeal  — 
even  a  greater  ordeal  than  they  had  thought  it  would 
be.  Every  one  who  knew  Honora  had  supposed  that 

211 


THE   PRECIPICE 

she  cared  more  for  the  laboratory  than  for  her  home, 
but  when  the  packers  came  and  tore  the  pictures 
from  the  walls,  it  might  have  been  her  heart-strings 
that  were  severed. 

Just  before  the  last  things  were  taken  out,  Kate 
found  her  in  an  agony  of  weeping  on  David's  bed, 
which  stood  with  an  appalling  emptiness  beside 
Honora's.  Honora  always  had  wakened  first  in  the 
morning,  Kate  knew,  and  now  she  guessed  at  the 
memories  that  wrung  that  great,  self-obliterating 
creature,  writhing  there  under  her  torment.  How 
often  she  must  have  raised  herself  on  her  arm  and 
looked  over  at  her  man,  so  handsome,  so  strong,  so 
completely,  as  she  supposed,  her  ownj  and  called  to 
him,  summoning  him  to  another  day's  work  at  the 
great  task  they  had  undertaken  for  themselves.  She! 
had  planned  to  be  a  wife  upon  an  heroic  model,  and 
he  had  wanted  mere  blitheness,  mere  feminine  allure.' 
Then,  after  all,  as  it  turned  out,  here  at  hand  were 
all  the  little  qualities, he  had  desired,  like  violets 
hidden  beneath  their  foliage. 

Kate  thought  she  never  had  seen  anything  more 
feminine  than  Honora,  shivering  over  the  breaking- 
up  of  the  linen-closet,  where  her  housewifely  stores 
were  kept. 

"I  don't  suppose  you  can  understand,  dear,"  she 
moaned  to  Kate.  "But  it's  a  sort  of  symbol  —  a 
linen-closet  is.  See,  I  hemmed  all  these  things  with 
my  own  hands  before  I  was  married,  and  embroid 
ered  the  initials!" 

212 


THE  PRECIPICE 

How  could  any  one  have  imagined  that  the  mas 
culine  traits  in  her  were  getting  the  upper  hand! 
She  grew  more  feminine  every  hour.  There  was  an 
increasing  rhythm  in  her  movements  —  a  certain 
rich  solemnity  like  that  of  Niobe  or  Hermione.  Her 
red-brown  hair  tumbled  about  her  face  and  fes 
tooned  her  statuesque  shoulders.  The  severity  of  her 
usual  attire  gave  place  to  a  negligence  which  en 
hanced  her  picturesqueness,  and  the  heaving  of  her 
troubled  bosom,  the  lifting  of  her  wistful  eyes  gave 
her  a  tenderer  beauty  than  she  ever  had  had  before. 
She  was  passionate  enough  now  to  have  suited  even 
that  avid  man  who  had  proved  himself  so  delinquent. 

"If  only  David  could  have  seen  her  like  this!" 
mused  Kate.  "His  'Blue-eyed  One'  would  have 
seemed  tepid  in  comparison.  To  think  she  sub 
merged  her  splendor  to  so  little  purpose!" 

She  wondered  if  Honora  knew  how  right  Karl 
Wander  had  been  in  saying  that  some  one  had  blun 
dered,  and  if  she  had  gained  so  much  enlightenment 
that  she  could  see  that  it  was  herself  who  had  done 
jso.  She  had  renounced  the  mistress  qualities  which 
jthe  successful  wife  requires  to  supplement  her  wifely 
'character,  and  she  had  learned  too  late  that  love 
must  have  other  elements  than  the  rigidly  sensible 
ones. 

Honora  was  turning  to  the  little  girls  now  with  a 
fierce  sense  of  maternal  possession.  She  performed 
personal  services  for  them.  She  held  them  in  her 
arms  at  twilight  and  breathed  in  their  personality 

213 


THE  PRECIPICE 

as  if  it  were  the  one  anaesthetic  that  could  make  her 
oblivious  to  her  pain. 

Kate  hardly  could  keep  from  crying  out :  — 

"Too  late!   Too  late!" 

There  was  a  bleak,  attic-like  room  at  the  Caravan 
sary,  airy  enough,  and  glimpsing  the  lake  from  its 
eastern  window,  which  Kate  took  temporarily  for  her 
abiding-place.  She  had  her  things  moved  over  there 
and  camped  amid  the  chaos  till  Honora  should  be 
gone. 

The  day  came  when  the  two  women,  with  the  little 
girls,  stood  on  the  porch  of  the  house  which  had 
proved  so  ineffective  a  home.  Kate  turned  the  key. 

"I  hope  never  to  come  back  to  Chicago,  Kate," 
Honora  said,  lifting  her  ravaged  face  toward  the 
staring  blankness  of  the  windows.  "I'm  not  brave 
enough." 

"Not  foolish  enough,  you  mean,"  corrected  Kate. 
"Hold  tight  to  the  girlies,  Honora,  and  you'll  come 
out  all  right." 

Honora  refrained  from  answering.  Her  woe  was 
epic,  and  she  let  her  sunken  eyes  and  haggard  coun 
tenance  speak  for  her. 

Kate  saw  David  Fulham's  deserted  family  off  on 
the  train.  Mrs.  Hays,  the  children's  nurse,  accom 
panied  them.  Honora  moved  with  a  slow  hauteur 
in  her  black  gown,  looking  like  a  disenthroned  queen, 
and  as  she  walked  down  the  train  aisle  Kate  thought 
of  Marie  Antoinette.  There  were  plenty  of  friends, 
as  both  women  knew,  who  would  have  been  glad  to 

214 


THE  PRECIPICE 

give  any  encouragement  their  presence  could  have 
contributed,  but  it  was  generally  understood  that 
the  truth  of  the  situation  was  not  to  be  recognized. 

When  Kate  got  back  on  the  platform,  Honora 
became  just  Honora  again,  thinking  of  and  planning 
for  others.  She  thrust  her  head  from  the  window. 

"Oh,  Kate,"  she  said,  "I  do  hope  you'll  get  well 
settled  somewhere  and  feel  at  home.  Don't  stay  in 
that  attic,  dear.  It  would  make  me  feel  as  if  I  had 
put  you  into  it." 

"Trust  me!"  Kate  reassured  her.  She  waved  her 
hand  with  specious  gayety.  "Give  my  love  to  Mr. 
Wander,"  she  laughed. 


XVIII 

KATE  was  alone  at  last.  She  had  time  to  think. 
There  were  still  three  days  left  of  the  vacation  for 
which  she  had  begged  when  she  perceived  Honora's 
need  of  her,  and  these  she  spent  in  settling  her  room. 
It  would  not  accommodate  all  of  the  furniture  she 
had  accumulated  during  those  days  of  enthusiasm 
over  Ray  McCrea's  return,  so  she  sold  the  superfluous 
things.  Truth  to  tell,  however,  she  kept  the  more 
decorative  ones.  Honora's  fate  had  taught  her  an 

I  indelible  lesson.   She  saw  clearly  that  happiness  for 

"women  did  not  lie  along  the  road  of  austerity. 

Was  it  humiliating  to  have  to  acknowledge  that 
women  were  desired  for  their  beauty,  their  charm, 
for  the  air  of  opulence  which  they  gave  to  an  other 
wise  barren  world?  Her  mind  cast  back  over  the 
ages  —  over  the  innumerable  forms  of  seduction  and 
subserviency  which  the  instinct  of  women  had  in 
duced  them  to  assume,  and  she  reddened  to  flame 
sitting  alone  in  the  twilight.  Yet,  an  hour  later,  still 
thinking  of  the  subject,  she  realized  that  it  was  for 

\  men  rather  than  for  women  that  she  had  to  blush. 

\  Woman  was  what  man  had  made  her,  she  concluded. 
Yet  man  was  often  better  than  woman  —  more 
generous,  more  just,  more  high-minded,  possessed  of 
a  deeper  faith. 

Well,  well,  it  was  at  best  a  confusing  world !   She 
216 


THE   PRECIPICE 

seemed  to  be  like  a  ship  without  a  chart  or  a  port  of 
destination.  But  at  least  she  could  accept  things  as 
they  were  —  even  the  fact  that  she  herself  was  not 
"in  commission,"  and  was,  philosophically  speaking, 
a  derelict. 

"Other  women  seem  to  do  things  by  instinct," 
she  mused,  "but  I  have,  apparently,  to  do  them  from 
conviction.  It  must  be  the  masculine  traits  in  me. 
They  say  all  women  have  masculine  traits,  that  if 
they  were  purely  feminine,  they  would  be  monstrous ; 
and  that  all  civilized  men  have  much  of  the  feminine 
in  them  or  they  would  not  be  civilized.  I  suppose 
there's  rather  more  of  the  masculine  in  me  than  in 
the  majority  of  women." 

Now  Mary  Morrison,  she  concluded,  was  almost 
pure  feminine  —  she  was  the  triumphant  exposition 
of  the  feminine  principle. 

Some  lines  of  Arthur  Symons  came  to  her  notice 
—  lines  which  she  tried  in  vain  not  to  memorize. 

"'I  am  the  torch,'  she  saith;  'and  what  to  me 
If  the  moth  die  of  me?   I  am  the  flame 
Of  Beauty,  and  I  burn  that  all  may  see 

Beauty,  and  I  have  neither  joy  nor  shame, 
But  live  with  that  clear  light  of  perfect  fire 
Which  is  to  men  the  death  of  their  desire. 

'"I  am  Yseult  and  Helen,  I  have  seen 

Troy  burn,  and  the  most  loving  knight  lies  dead. 
The  world  has  been  my  mirror,  time  has  been 

My  breath  upon  the  glass;  and  men  have  said, 
Age  after  age,  in  rapture  and  despair, 
Love's  few  poor  words  before  my  mirror  there. 
217 


THE  PRECIPICE 

'"I  live  and  am  immortal;  in  my  eyes 

The  sorrow  of  the  world,  and  on  my  lips 
The  joy  of  life,  mingle  to  make  me  wise!'  "  .  .  . . 

Was  it  wisdom,  then,  that  Mary  Morrison  pos 
sessed  —  the  immemorial  wisdom  of  women? 

Oh,  the  shame  of  it!  The  shame  of  being  a  woman ! 

Kate  denied  herself  to  McCrea  when  he  called. 
She  plunged  into  the  development  of  her  scheme 
for  an  extension  of  motherhood.  State  motherhood 
it  would  be.  Should  the  movement  become  national, 
as  she  hoped,  perhaps  it  had  best  be  called  the  Bureau 
of  Children. 

It  was  midsummer  by  now  and  there  was  some 
surcease  of  activity  even  in  "welfare"  circles.  Many 
of  the  social  workers,  having  grubbed  in  unspeak 
able  slums  all  winter,  were  now  abroad  among  pal 
aces  and  cathedrals,  drinking  their  fill  of  beauty. 
Many  were  in  the  country  near  at  hand.  For  the 
most  part,  neophytes  were  in  charge  at  the  settle 
ment  houses.  Kate  was  again  urged  to  domesticate 
herself  with  Jane  Addams's  corps  of  workers,  but  she 
had  an  aversion  to  being  shut  between  walls.  She 
had  been  trapped  once, — back  at  the  place  she  called 
home,  —  and  she  had  not  liked  it.  There  was  some 
thing  free  and  adventurous  in  going  from  house  to 
house,  authoritatively  rearranging  the  affairs  of  the 
disarranged.  It  suited  her  to  be  "a  traveling  bishop." 
Moreover,  it  left  her  time  for  the  development  of 
her  great  Idea.  In  a  neighborhood  house  privacy 

and  leisure  were  the  two  unattainable  luxuries. 

218 


THE  PRECIPICE 

She  was  still  writing  at  odd  times;  and  now  her 
articles  were  appearing.  They  were  keen,  simple,  full 
of  meat,  and  the  public  liked  them.  As  Kate  read  them 
over,  she  smiled  to  find  them  so  emphatic.  She  was 
far  from  feeling  emphatic,  but  she  seemed  to  have  a 
trick  of  expressing  herself  in  that  way.  She  was 
still  in  need  of  great  economy.  Her  growing  influence 
brought  little  to  her  in  the  way  of  monetary  rewards, 
and  it  was  hard  for  her  to  live  within  her  income  be 
cause  she  had  a  scattering  hand.  She  liked  to  dis 
pense  good  things  and  she  liked  to  have  them.  A 
liberal  programme  suited  her  best  —  whatever  gave 
free  play  to  life.  She  was  a  wild  creature  in  that  she 
hated  bars.  Of  all  the  prison  houses  of  life,  poverty 
seemed  one  of  the  most  hectoring. 

But  poverty,  to  be  completely  itself,  must  exclude 
opportunity.  Kate  had  the  key  to  opportunity,  and 
she  realized  it.  In  the  letters  she  received  and  wrote 
bringing  her  into  association  with  men  and  women 
of  force  and  aspiration,  she  had  a  privilege  to  which, 
for  all  of  her  youth,  she  could  not  be  indifferent.  She 
liked  the  way  these  purposeful  persons  put  things, 
and  felt  a  distinct  pleasure  in  matching  their  ideas 
with  her  own.  As  the  summer  wore  on,  she  was 
asked  to  country  homes  of  charm  and  taste  —  homes  » 
where  wealth,  though  great,  was  subordinated  to 
more  essential  things.  There  she  met  those  who  could 
further  her  purposes  —  who  could  lend  their  influ 
ence  to  aid  her  Idea,  now  shaping  itself  excellently. 
At  the  suggestion  of  Miss  Addams,  she  prepared  an 

219 


THE  PRECIPICE 

article  in  which  her  plan  unfolded  itself  in  all  its  be 
nevolent  length  and  breadth  —  an  article  which  it 
was  suggested  might  yet  form  a  portion  of  a  speech 
made  before  a  congressional  committee.  There  was 
even  talk  of  having  Kate  deliver  this  address,  but 
she  had  not  yet  reached  the  point  where  she  could 
contemplate  such  an  adventure  with  calmness. 

f  However,  she  was  having  training  in  her  suffrage 
work,  which  was  now  assuming  greater  importance 
in  her  eyes.  She  addressed  women  audiences  in 
various  parts  of  the  city,  and  had  even  gone  on  a  few 
flying  motor  excursions  with  leading  suffragists, 
speaking  to  the  people  in  villages  and  at  country 
schoolhouses. 

There  was  an  ever-increasing  conviction  in  this 
department  of  her  work.    She  had  learned  to  count 

r  the  ballot  as  the  best  bulwark  of  liberty,  and  she. 
could  find  no  logic  to  inform  her  why,  if  it  was  a  pro 
tection  for  man,  —  for  the  least  and  most  insignifi 
cant  of  men,  —  it  was  not  equally  a  weapon  which 
women,  searching  now  as  never  before  for  defined  and 
enduring  forms  of  liberty,  should  be  permitted  to  use. 
She  not  only  desired  it  for  other  women,  —  women 
who  were  supposed  to  "need  it"  more,  —  but  she 
wished  it  for  herself.  She  felt  it  to  be  merely  consis 
tent  that  she,  in  whom  service  to  her  community  was 
becoming  a  necessity,  should  have  this  privilege.  It 
never  would  be  possible  for  her  to  exercise  murderous 
powers  of  destruction  in  behalf  of  her  country.  She 
would  not  be  allowed  to  shoot  down  innocent  men 

220 


THE  PRECIPICE 

whose  opinions  were  opposed  to  her  own,  or  to  make 
widows  and  orphans.  She  would  be  forbidden  to 
stand  behind  cannon  or  to  sink  submarine  torpedoes. 
But  it  was  within  her  reach  to  add  to  the  sum  total 
of  peace  and  happiness.  She  would,  if  she  could  get 
her  Bureau  of  Children  established,  exercise  a  con 
structive  influence  completely  in  accord  with  the 
spirit  of  the  time.  This  being  the  case,  she  thought 
she  ought  to  have  the  ballot.  It  would  make  her 
stand  up  straighter,  spiritually  speaking.  It  would 
give  her  the  authority  which  would  point  her  argu 
ments  ;  put  a  cap  on  the  sheaf  of  her  endeavors.  She 
wanted  it  precisely  as  a  writer  wants  a  period  to 
complete  a  sentence.  It  had  a  structural  value,  to 
use  the  term  of  an  architect.  Without  it  her  sentence 
was  foolish,  her  building  insecure. 

"Why  is  it,"  she  demanded  of  the  women  of 
Lake  Geneva  when,  in  company  with  a  veteran  suf 
fragist,  she  addressed  them  there,  "that  you  grow 
weary  in  working  for  your  town?  It  is  because  you 
cannot  demonstrate  your  meaning  nor  secure  the 
continuation  of  your  works  by  the  ballot.  Your  ef 
forts  are  like  pieces  of  metal  which  you  cannot  weld 
into  useful  form.  You  toil  for  deserted  children, 
indigent  mothers,  for  hospitals  and  asylums,  starting 
movements  which,  when  perfected,  are  absorbed  by 
the  city.  What  happens  then  to  these  benevolent 
enterprises?  They  are  placed  in  the  hands  of  poli 
ticians  and  perfunctorily  administered.  Your  dis 
interested  services  are  lost  sight  of;  the  politicians 

221 


THE   PRECIPICE 

smile  at  the  manner  in  which  you  have  toiled  and 
they  have  reaped.  You  see  sink  into  uselessness, 
institutions,  which,  in  the  compassionate  hands  of 
women,  would  be  the  promoters  of  good  through  the 
generations.  The  people  you  would  benefit  are  treated 
with  that  insolent  arrogance  which  only  a  cheap  man 
in  office  can  assume.  Causes  you  have  labored  to 
establish,  and  which  no  one  denies  are  benefits,  are 
capriciously  overthrown.  And  there  is  one  remedy 
and  one  only  :  for  you  to  cast  your  vote  —  for  you 
to  have  your  say  as  you  sit  in  your  city  council,  on 
your  county  board,  or  in  your  state  legislature  and 
national  congress. 

"You  may  shrink  from  it;  you  may  dread  these 
new  responsibilities;  but  strength  and  courage  will 
come  with  your  need.  You  dare  not  turn  aside 
from  the  road  which  opens  before  you,  for  to  tread 
it  is  now  the  test  of  integrity." 

"Ought  you  to  have  said  that?"  inquired  the  older 
suffragist,  afterward  looking  at  Kate  with  earnest 
and  burning  eyes  from  her  white  spiritual  face.  "I 
dare  say  I  care  much  more  about  suffrage  than  you. 
I  have  been  interested  in  it  since  I  was  a  child,  and 
I  am  now  no  longer  a  young  woman.  Yet  I  feel  that 
integrity  is  not  allied  to  this  or  that  opinion.  It  is  a 
question  of  sincerity  —  of  steadfastness  of  purpose." 

"There,  there,"  said  Kate,  "don't  expect  me  to 
be  too  moderate.  How  can  I  care  about  anything 
just  now  if  I  have  to  be  moderate?  I  love  suffrage 
because  it  gives  me  something  to  care  about  and  to 

222 


THE  PRECIPICE 

work  for.  The  last  generation  has  destroyed  pretty 
much  all  of  the  theology,  has  n't  it?  Service  of  man 
is  all  there  is  left  —  particularly  that  branch  of  it 
known  as  the  service  of  woman.  Is  n't  that  what  all 
of  the  poets  and  playwrights  and  novelists  are  writ 
ing  about?  Is  n't  that  the  most  interesting  thing  in 
the  world  at  present?  You  've  all  urged  me  to  go  into 
it,  have  n't  you?  Very  well,  I  have.  But  I  can't  stay 
in  it  if  I  'm  to  be  tepid.  You  must  n't  expect  me  to 
modify  my  utterance  and  cut  down  my  climaxes. 
I  Ve  got  to  make  a  hot  propaganda  of  the  thing.  I 
want  the  exhilaration  of  martyrdom  —  though  I  'm 
not  keen  for  the  discomforts  of  it.  In  other  words, 
dear  lady,  because  you  are  judicious,  don't  expect 
me  to  be.  I  don't  want  to  be  judicious  —  yet.  I 
want  to  be  fervid." 

"  You  are  a  dear  girl,"  said  the  elder  woman,  "  but 
you  are  an  egotist,  as  of  course  you  know." 

"  If  I  had  been  a  modest  violet  by  a  mossy  stone," 
laughed  Kate,  "should  I  have  taken  up  this  work?" 

"  I  'm  free  to  confess  that  you  would  not,"  said  the 
other,  checking  a  sigh  as  if  she  despaired  of  bringing 
this  excited  girl  down  to  the  earth.  "Yet  I  am 
bound  to  say  —  "She  hesitated  and  Kate  took  up 
the  word. 

"I  do  know  —  I  really  understand,"  she  cried 
contritely.  "You  are  not  an  egotist  at  all,  dear 
lady.  Though  you  have  held  many  positions  of 
honor,  you  have  never  thought  of  yourself.  Your 
sacrifices  have  been  bona  fide.  You  who  are  so  deli- 

223 


THE   PRECIPICE 

cate  and  tender  have  done  things  which  men  might 
have  shrunk  from.  I  know  what  you  mean  by  sin 
cerity,  and  I  am  aware  that  you  have  it  completely 
and  steadily,  whereas  I  have  more  enthusiasm  than 
is  good  either  for  myself  or  the  cause.  But  you 
would  n't  want  me  to  form  myself  on  you,  would 
you  now?  Temperament  is  just  as  much  a  fact  as 
physique.  I've  got  to  dramatize  woman's  disad 
vantages  if  I  am  to  preach  on  the  subject.  Though 
I  really  think  there  are  tragedies  of  womanhood 
which  none  could  exaggerate." 

"Oh,  there  are,  there  are,  Miss  Barrington." 
"How  shall  I  make  you  understand  that  I  am  to 
be  trusted ! "  Kate  cried.  "  I  know  I  'm  avid.  I  want 
both  pain  and  joy.  I  want  to  suffer  with  the  others 
and  enjoy  with  the  others.  I  want  my  cup  of  life 
full  and  running  over  with  a  brew  of  a  thousand 
flavors,  and  I  actually  believe  I  want  to  taste  of  the 
cup  each  neighbor  holds.  I  have  to  know  how  others 
feel  and  it's  my  nature  to  feel  for  them  and  with 
them.  When  I  see  this  great  wave  of  aspiration 
sweeping  over  women,  —  Chinese  and  Persian  women 
as  well  as  English  and  American,  —  I  feel  magnificent. 
I,  too,  am  standing  where  the  stream  of  influence 
blows  over  me.  It  thrills  me  magnificently,  and  I 
am  meaning  it  when  I  say  that  I  think  the  women 
who  do  not  feel  it  are  torpid  or  cowardly." 

The  elder  woman  smiled  patiently.  After  all,  who 
was  she  that  she  should  check  her  flaming  disciple? 


XIX 

WHENEVER  Kate  had  a  free  Sunday,  she  and  Mrs. 
Dennison,  the  mistress  of  the  Caravansary,  would 
go  together  to  the  West  Side  to  visit  George  and 
Marna  Fitzgerald.  It  amused  and  enchanted  Kate 
to  think  that  in  the  midst  of  so  much  that  was 
commonplace,  with  dull  apartment  buildings  stretch 
ing  around  for  miles,  such  an  Arcadia  should  have  lo 
cated  itself.  It  opened  her  eyes  to  the  fact  that  there 
might  be  innumerable  Arcadians  concealed  in  those 
monotonous  rows  of  three-  and  four-story  flat  build 
ings,  if  only  one  had  the  wisdom  and  wit  to  find 
them.  Marna  seemed  to  know  of  some.  She  had  be 
come  acquainted  with  a  number  of  these  happy  un 
known  little  folk,  to  whom  it  never  had  occurred  that 
celebrity  was  an  essential  of  joy,  and  she  liked  them 
mightily.  Marna,  indeed,  liked  high  and  low  —  al 
ways  providing  she  did  n't  dislike  them.  If  they  were 
Irish,  her  inclination  toward  them  was  accelerated. 
There  were  certain  wonders  of  Mama's  ardent  soul 
which  were  for  " Irish  faces  only"  —  Irish  eyes  were 
the  eyes  she  liked  best  to  have  upon  her.  But  she 
forgave  Kate  her  Anglo-Saxon  ancestry  because  of 
her  talent  for  appreciating  the  Irish  character. 

Time  was  passing  beautifully  with  Marna,  and 
her  Bird  of  Hope  was  fluttering  nearer.  She  told  Kate 

that  now  she  could  see  some  sense  in  being  a  woman. 

225 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"If  you'd  ask  me,"  she  said  with  childish  auda 
city,  "if  such  a  foolish  little  thing  as  I  could  actu 
ally  have  a  wonderful,  dear  little  baby,  I  'd  have  said 
'no'  right  at  the  start.  I 'm  as  flattered  as  I  can  be. 
And  what  pleases  me  so  is  that  I  don't  have  to  be  at 
all  different  from  what  I  naturally  am.  I  don't  have 
to  be  learned  or  tremendously  good ;  it  is  n't  a  ques 
tion  of  deserts.  It  has  just  come  to  me — who  never 
did  deserve  any  such  good!" 

Next  door  to  Marna  there  was  a  young  Irishwoman 
of  whom  the  Fitzgeralds  saw  a  good  deal,  the  mother 
of  five  little  children,  with  not  more  than  sixteen 
months  between  the  ages  of  any  of  them.  Mary 
Finn  had  been  beautiful  —  so  much  was  evident  at 
a  glance.  But  she  already  wore  a  dragged  expression ; 
and  work,  far  beyond  her  powers  to  accomplish, 
was  making  a  sloven  of  her.  She  was  petulant  with 
the  children,  though  she  adored  them — at  least, 
sporadically.  But  her  burden  tired  her  patience 
out.  Timothy  Finn's  income  had  not  increased  in 
proportion  to  his  family.  He  was  now  in  his  young 
manhood,  at  the  height  of  his  earning  capacity,  and 
early  middle-age  might  see  him  suffering  a  reduc 
tion. 

Mrs.  Finn  dropped  in  Sunday  afternoon  to  share 
the  cup  of  tea  which  Marna  was  offering  her  guests, 
and  as  she  looked  wistfully  out  of  her  tangle  of  dark 
hair,  —  in  which  lines  of  silver  already  were  begin 
ning  to  appear,  —  she  impressed  herself  upon  Kate's 
mind  as  one  of  the  innumerable  army  of  martyrs 

226 


THE  PRECIPICE 

to  the  fetish  of  fecundity  which  had  borne  down  men 
and  women  through  the  centuries. 

She  had  her  youngest  child  with  her. 

"  It  was  a  terrible  time  before  I  could  get  up  from 
the  last  one," she  said,  "me  that  was  around  as  smart 
as  could  be  with  the  first.  I  'm  in  living  terror  all  the 
time  for  fear  of  what 's  coming  to  me.  A  mother  has 
no  business  to  die,  that's  what  I  tell  Tim.  Who'd 
look  to  the  ones  I  have,  with  me  taken?  I  'm  sharp 
with  them  at  times,  but  God  knows  I'd  die  for 
'em.  Blessed  be,  they  understand  my  scolding,  the 
dears.  It's  a  cuff  and  a  kiss  with  me,  and  I  declare 
I  don't  know  which  they  like  best.  They  may 
howl  when  I  hurt  them,  but  they  know  it's  their 
own  mother  doing  the  cuffing,  and  in  their  hearts 
they  don't  care.  It's  that  way  with  cubs,  ye  see. 
Mother  bear  knows  how  hard  to  box  the  ears  of 
'em.  But  it's  truth  I'm  saying,  Mrs.  Fitzgerald; 
1  there 's  little  peace  for  women.  They  don't  seem  to 
belong  to  themselves  at  all,  once  they're  married. 
It's  very  happy  you  are,  looking  forward  to  your 
first,  and  you  have  my  good  wishes.  More  than 
that,  I  '11  be  proud  to  be  of  any  service  to  you  I  can 
when  your  time  comes  —  it's  myself  has  had  experi 
ence  enough!  But,  I  tell  you,  the  joy  runs  out  when 
you're  slaving  from  morning  to  night,  and  then 
never  getting  the  half  done  that  you  ought ;  and  when 
you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  have  two  hours  straight 
sleep  at  night;  and  maybe  your  husband  scolding  at 
the  noise  the  young  ones  make.  Love 'em?  Of  course, 

227 


THE   PRECIPICE 

you  love  'em.  But  you  can  stand  only  so  much. 
After  that,  you  're  done  for.  And  the  agony  of  pass 
ing  and  leaving  the  children  motherless  is  something 
I  don't  like  to  think  about." 

She  bared  her  thin  breast  to  her  nursing  babe,  rock 
ing  slowly,  her  blue  eyes  straining  into  the  future 
with  its  menace. 

"  But,"  said  Marna,  blushing  with  embarrassment, 
"need  there  be  such  —  such  a  burden?  Don't  you 
think  it  right  to  —  to  —  " 

"Neither  God  nor  man  seems  to  have  any  mercy 
on  me,"  cried  the  little  woman  passionately.  "I 
say  I  'm  in  a  trap  —  that's  the  truth  of  it.  If  I  was 
a  selfish,  bad  mother,  I  could  get  out  of  it;  if  I  was  a 
mean  wife,  I  could,  too,  I  suppose.  I  've  tried  to  do 
what  was  right,  —  what  other  people  told  me  was 
right,  —  and  I  pray  it  won't  kill  me  —  for  I  ought 
to  live  for  the  children's  sake." 

The  child  was  whining  because  of  lack  of  nourish 
ment,  and  Mrs.  Finn  put  it  to  the  other  breast,  but 
it  fared  little  better  there.  Mrs.  Dennison  was  look 
ing  on  with  her  mild,  benevolent  aspect. 

"My  dear,"  she  said  at  last  with  an  air  of  gentle 
authority,  "I'm  going  out  to  get  a  bottle  and  good 
reliable  infant  food  for  that  child.  You  have  n't 
strength  enough  to  more  than  keep  yourself  going, 
not  to  say  anything  about  the  baby." 

She  took  the  child  out  of  the  woman's  arms  and 
gave  it  to  Kate. 

"But  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  wean  it  when  it's  so 
228 


THE   PRECIPICE 

young,"  cried  Mrs.  Finn,  breaking  down  and  wring 
ing  her  thin  hands  with  an  immemorial  Hibernian 
gesture.  "Tim  wouldn't  like  it,  and  his  mother 
would  rage  at  me." 

"They'll  like  it  when  they  see  the  baby  getting 
some  flesh  on  its  bones,"  insisted  Mrs.  Dennison. 
"There's  more  than  one  kind  of  a  fight  a  mother  has 
to  put  up  for  her  children.  They  used  to  think  it 
fine  for  a  woman  to  kill  herself  for  her  children,  but 
I  don't  think  it's  so  much  the  fashion  now.  As  you 
say,  a  mother  has  no  business  to  die;  it's  the  part 
of  intelligence  to  live.  So  you  just  have  a  set-to  with 
your  old-fashioned  mother-in-law  if  it's  necessary." 

"Yes,"  put  in  Kate,  "the  new  generation  always 
has  to  fight  the  old  in  the  interests  of  progress." 

Marna  broke  into  a  rippling  laugh. 

"That's  her  best  platform  manner,"  she  cried. 
"Just  think,  Mrs.  Finn,'  my  friend  talks  on  suf 
frage." 

"Oh!"  gasped  the  little  Irishwoman,  involuntarily 
•putting  out  her  hands  as  if  she  would  snatch  her  in 
fant  from  such  a  contaminating  hold. 

But  Kate  drew  back  smilingly. 

"Yes,"  she  said  significantly,  "I  believe  in  wo 
man's  rights." 

She  held  on  to  the  baby,  and  Mrs.  Dennison,  put 
ting  on  her  hat  and  coat,  went  in  search  of  a  nursing- 
bottle. 

On  the  way  home,  Mrs.  Dennison,  who  was  of 
229 


THE  PRECIPICE 

the  last  generation,  and  Kate,  who  was  of  the  pres 
ent  one,  talked  the  matter  over. 

"She  did  n't  seem  to  understand  that  she  had  been 
talking  'woman's  rights,'"  mused  Kate,  referring  to 
Mrs.  Finn.  "The  word  frightened  the  poor  dear. 
She  did  n't  see  that  fatal  last  word  of  her  '  love, 
honor,  and  obey '  had  her  where  she  might  even  have 
to  give  her  life  in  keeping  her  word." 

"Well,  for  my  part,"  said  Mrs.  Dennison,  in  her 
mellow,  flowing  tones, "  I  always  found  it  a  pleasure  to 
obey  my  husband.  But,  then,  to  be  sure,  I  don't  know 
that  he  ever  asked  anything  inconsiderate  of  me." 

"You  were  a  well-shielded  woman,  were  n't  you?" 
asked  Kate. 

"I  did  n't  need  to  lift  my  hand  unless  I  wished," 
said  Mrs.  Dennison  in  reminiscence. 

"And  you  had  no  children  — " 

"  But  that  was  a  great  sorrow." 

"Yes,  but  it  was  n't  a  living  vexation  and  drain. 
It  did  n't  use  up  your  vitality  and  suck  up  your 
brain  power  and  make  a  slattern  and  a  drudge  of 
you  as  having  five  children  in  seven  years  has  of  little 
Mrs.  Finn.  It's  all  very  well  to  talk  of  obeying  when 
you  are  n't  asked  to  obey  —  or,  at  least,  when  you 
are  n't  required  to  do  anything  difficult.  But  good 
Tim  Finn,  I  '11  warrant,  tells  his  Mary  when  she  may 
go  and  where,  and  he  'd  be  in  a  fury  if  she  went  some 
where  against  his  desire.  Oh,  she's  playing  the  old 
mediaeval  game,  you  can  see  that!" 

"Dear  Kate,"  sighed  Mrs.  Dennison,  "sometimes 
230 


THE  PRECIPICE 

your  expressions  seem  to  me  quite  out  of  taste.  I 
do  hope  you  won't  mind  my  saying  so.  You're  so 
very  emphatic." 

"I  don't  mind  a  bit,  Mrs.  Dennison.  I  daresay 
I  am  getting  to  be  rather  violent  and  careless  in  my 
way  of  talking.  It's  a  reaction  from  the  vagueness 
and  prettiness  of  speech  I  used  to  hear  down  in 
Silvertree,  where  they  begin  their  remarks  with  an 
'  I  'm  not  sure,  but  I  think,'  et  cetera.  But,  really, 
you  must  overlook  my  vehemence.  If  I  could  spend 
my  time  with  sweet  souls  like  you,  I  'd  be  a  different 
sort  of  woman." 

"I  can't  help  looking  forward,  Kate,  to  the  time 
when  you  '11  be  in  your  own  home.  You  think  you  're 
all  bound  up  in  this  public  work,  but  I  can  tell  by 
the  looks  of  you  that  you  're  just  the  one  to  make  a 
good  wife  for  some  fine  man.  I  hope  you  don't  think 
it  impertinent  of  me,  but  I  can't  make  out  why  you 
have  n't  taken  one  or  the  other  of  the  men  who  want 
you." 

"You  think  some  one  wants  me?"  asked  Kate 
provokingly. 

"Oh,  we  all  know  that  Dr.  von  Shierbrand  would 
rather  be  taking  you  home  to  see  his  old  German 
mother  than  to  be  made  President  of  the  University 
of  Chicago;  and  that  nice  Mr.  McCrea  is  nearly 
crazy  over  the  way  you  treat  him." 
I  "  But  it  would  seem  so  stale — life  in  a  home  with 
either  of  them!  Should  I  just  have  to  sit  at  the  win 
dow  and  watch  for  them  to  come  home?" 

231 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"You  know  you  would  n't,"  said  Mrs.  Dennison, 
almost  crossly.  "Why  do  you  tease  me?  What's 
good  enough  for  other  women  ought  to  be  good 
enough  for  you." 

"Oh,  what  a  bad  one  I  am!"  cried  Kate.  "Of 
course  what  is  good  enough  for  better  women  than  I 
ought  to  be  good  enough  for  me.  But  yet  —  shall 
I  tell  the  truth  about  myself?" 

"  Do,"  said  Mrs.  Dennison,  placated.  "  I  want  you 
to  confide  in  me,  Kate." 

"Well,  you  see,  dear  lady,  suppose  that  I  marry 
one  of  the  gentlemen  of  whom  you  have  spoken. 
Suppose  I  make  a  pleasant  home  for  my  husband, 
have  two  or  three  nice  children,  and  live  a  happy  and 

—  well,  a  good  life.  Then  I  die  and  there's  the  end." 
"Well,  of  course  I  don't  think  that's  the  end," 

broke  in  Mrs.  Dennison. 

Kate  evaded  the  point. 

"I  mean,  there's  an  end  of  my  earthly  existence. 
Now,  on  the  other  hand,  suppose  I  get  this  Bureau 
for  Children-  through.  Suppose  it  becomes  a  fact. 
Let  us  play  that  I  am  asked  to  become  the  head  of 
it,  or,  if  not  that,  at  least  to  assist  in  carrying  on 
its  work.  Then,  suppose  that,  as  a  result  of  my  work, 
the  unprotected  children  have  protection;  the  edu 
cation  of  all  the  children  in  the  country  is  assured 

—  even  of  the  half-witted,  and  the  blind  and  the  deaf 
and  the  vicious.  Suppose  that  the  care  and  develop 
ment  of   children  becomes  a  great  and   generally 
comprehended  science,  like  sanitation,  so  that  the 

232 


THE  PRECIPICE 

men  and  women  of  future  generations  are  more 
fitted  to  live  than  those  we  now  see  about  us. 
Don't  you  think  that  will  be  better  worth  while  than 
my  individual  happiness?  They  think  a  woman 
heroic  when  she  sacrifices  herself  for  her  children, 
but  should  n't  I  be  much  more  heroic  if  I  worked  all 
my  life  for  other  people's  children?  For  children  yet 
to  be  born?  I  ask  you  that  calmly.  I  don't  wish  you 
to  answer  me  to-day.  I  'm  in  earnest  now,  dear  Mrs. 
Dennison,  and  I'd  like  you  to  give  me  a  true  an 
swer." 

There  was  a  little  pause.  Mrs.  Dennison  was  trifling 
nervously  with  the  frogs  on  her  black  silk  jacket. 
When  she  spoke,  it  was  rather  diffidently. 

"I  could  answer  you  so  much  better,  my  dear 
Kate,"  she  said  at  length,  "if  I  only  knew  how  much 
or  how  little  vanity  you  have." 

"Oh! "gasped  Kate. 

"Or  whether  you  are  really  an  egotist  —  as  some 
think." 

"Oh!"  breathed  Kate  again. 

"As  for  me,  I  always  say  that  a  person  can't  get 
anywhere  without  egotism.  The  word  never  did 
scare  me.  Egotism  is  a  kind  of  yeast  that  makes  the 
human  bread  rise.  I  don't  see  how  we  could  get  along 
without  it.  As  you  say,  I  'd  better  wait  before  answer 
ing  you.  You've  asked  me  an  important  question, 
and  I  'd  like  to  give  it  thought.  I  can  see  that  you  'd 
be  a  good  and  useful  woman  whichever  thing  you 
did.  But  the  question  is,  would  you  be  a  happy  one 

233 


THE  PRECIPICE 

in  a  home?  You  Ve  got  the  idea  of  a  public  life  in 
your  head,  and  very  likely  that  influences  you  with 
out  your  realizing  it." 

"I  don't  say  I'm  not  ambitious,"  cried  Kate, 
really  stirred.  "  But  that  ought  to  be  a  credit  to  me ! 
It's  ridiculous  using  the  word  'ambitious'  as  a  credit 
to  a  man,  and  making  it  seem  like  a  shame  to  a 
woman.  Ambition  is  personal  force.  Why  should  n't 
I  have  force?" 

"There  are  things  I  can't  put  into  words,"  said 
Mrs.  Dennison,  taking  a  folded  handkerchief  from 
her  bead  bag  and  delicately  wiping  her  face,  "and 
one  of  them  is  what  I  think  about  women.  I  'm  a 
woman  myself,  and  it  does  n't  seem  becoming  to  me 
to  say  that  I  think  they're  sacred." 

"No  more  sacred  than  men!"  interrupted  Kate 
hotly.  "Life  is  sacred  —  if  it's  good.  I  can't  say  I 
think  it  sacred  when  it's  deleterious.  It's  that  pale, 
twilight  sort  of  a  theory  which  has  kept  women  from 
doing  the  things  they  were  capable  of  doing.  Men 
kept  thinking  of  them  as  sacred,  and  then  they 
were  miserably  disappointed  when  they  found  they 
were  n't.  They  talk  about  women's  dreams,  but  I 
think  men  dream  just  as  much  as  women,  or  more, 
and  that  they  moon  around  with  ideas  about  angel 
wives,  and  then  are  horribly  shocked  when  they 
find  they've  married  limited,  commonplace,  selfish 
creatures  like  themselves.  I  say  let  us  train  them 
both,  make  them  comrades,  give  them  a  chance  to 
share  the  burdens  and  the  rewards,  and  see  if  we 

234 


THE   PRECIPICE 

can't  reduce  the  number  of  broken  hearts  in  the 
world." 

"There  are  some  burdens,"  put  in  Mrs.  Denni- 
son,  "which  men  and  women  cannot  share.  The  bur 
den  of  child-bearing,  which  is  the  most  important 
one  there  is,  has  to  be  borne  by  women  alone.  You 
yourself  were  talking  about  that  only  a  little  while 
ago.  It's  such  a  strange  sort  of  a  thing,  —  so  sweet 
and  so  terrible,  —  and  it  so  often  takes  a  woman 
to  the  verge  of  the  grave,  or  over  it,  that  I  suppose 
it  is  that  which  gives  a  sacredness  to  women.  Then, 
too,  they  '11  work  all  their  lives  long  for  some  one  they 
love  with  no  thought  of  any  return  except  love. 
That  makes  them  sacred,  too.  Most  of  them  believe 
in  God,  even  when  they're  bad,  and  they  believe  in 
those  they  love  even  when  they  ought  not.  Maybe 
they  're  right  in  this  and  maybe  they  're  not.  Perhaps 
you  '11  say  that  shows  their  lack  of  sense.  But  I  say 
it  helps  the  world  on,  just  the  same.  It  may  not  be 
sensible  —  but  it  makes  them  sacred." 

Mrs.  Dennison's  face  was  shining.  She  had  pulled 
the  gloves  from  her  warm  hands,  and  Kate,  looking 
down  at  them,  saw  how  work-worn  they  now  were, 
though  they  were  softly  rounded  and  delicate.  She 
knew  this  woman  might  have  married  a  second  time ; 
but  she  was  toiling  that  she  might  keep  faith  with 
the  man  she  had  laid  in  his  grave.  She  was  expecting 
a  reunion  with  him.  Her  hope  warmed  her  and  kept 
her  redolent  of  youth.  She  was  still  a  bride,  though 
she  was  a  widow.  She  was  of  those  who  understood 

235 


THE   PRECIPICE 

the  things  of  the  spirit.  The  essence  of  womanhood 
was  in  her  —  the  elusive  poetry  of  womanhood.  To 
such  implications  of  mystic  beauty  there  was  no 
retort.  Kate  saw  in  that  moment  that  when  women 
got  as  far  as  emancipation  they  were  going  to  lose 
something  infinitely  precious.  The  real  question  was, 
should  not  these  beautiful,  these  evanishing  joys  be 
permitted  to  depart  in  the  interests  of  progress? 
Would  not  new,  more  robust  satisfactions  come  to 
take  the  place  of  them? 

They  rode  on  in  silence,  and  Kate's  mind  darted    , 
here  and  there — darted  to  Lena  Vroom,  that  piteous   ' 
little  sister  of    Icarus,   with    her  scorched  wings; 
darted  t6  Honora  Fulham  with  her  shattered  faith; 
to  Mary  Morrison  with  her  wanton's  wisdom;  to   , 
Mary  Finn,  whose  womanhood  was  her  undoing;  to 
Marna,  who  had  given  fame  for  love  and  found  the  ' 
bargain  good ;  to  Mrs.  Leger,  who  had  turned  to  God ;  ; 
to  her  mother,  the  cringing  wife,  who  could  not  keep 
faith  with  herself  and  her  vows  of  obedience,  and 
who  had  perished  of  the  conflict;  to  Mrs.  Dennison, 
happy  in  her  mid- Victorian  creed.  Then  from  these, 
whom  she  knew,  her  mind  swept  on  to  the  others  — 
to  all  the  restless,  disturbed,  questioning  women  the 
world  over,  who,  clinging  to  beautiful  old  myths, 
yet  reached  out  diffident  hands  to  grasp  new  guid — 
ance.   The  violence  and  nurtured  hatred  of  some  of 
them  offended  her  deeply;  the  egregious  selfishness 
of  others  seemed  to  her  as  a  flaming  sin.    Militant, 
unrestrained,  avid  of  coarse  and  obvious  things, 

236 


THE  PRECIPICE 

they  presented  a  shameful  contrast  to  this  little, 
gentle,  dreaming  keeper  of  a  boarding-house  who  sat 
beside  her,  her  dove's  eyes  filled  with  the  mist  of 
memories. 
And  yet  —  and  yet  — 


XX 

THE  next  day,  as  it  happened,  she  was  invited  to 
Lake  Forest  to  attend  a  "suffrage  tea."  A  distin 
guished  English  suffragette  was  to  be  present,  and 
the  more  fashionable  group  of  Chicago  suffragists 
were  gathering  to  pay  her  honor. 

It  was  a  torrid  day  with  a  promise  of  storm,  and 
Kate  would  have  preferred  to  go  to  the  Settlement 
House  to  do  her  usual  work,  which  chanced  just  now 
to  be  chiefly  clerical.  But  she  was  urged  to  meet  the 
Englishwoman  and  to  discuss  with  her  the  matter 
of  the  Children's  Bureau,  in  which  the  Settlement 
House  people  were  now  taking  the  keenest  interest. 
Kate  went,  gowned  in  fresh  linen,  and  well  pleased, 
after  all,  to  be  with  a  holiday  crowd  riding  through 
the  summer  woods.  Tea  was  being  served  on  the 
lawn.  It  overlooked  the  lake,  and  here  were  gathered 
both  men  and  women.  It  was  a  company  of  rather 
notable  persons,  as  Kate  saw  at  a  glance.  Almost 
every  one  there  was  distinguished  for  some  social 
achievement,  or  as  the  advocate  of  some  reform  or 
theory,  or  perhaps  as  an  opulent  and  fashionable 
patron.  It  was  at  once  interesting  and  amusing. 

Kate  greeted  her  hostess,  and  looked  about  her  for 
the  guest  of  honor.  It  transpired  that  the  affair  was 
quite  informal,  after  all.  The  Englishwoman  was 

238 


THE  PRECIPICE 

sitting  in  a  tea-tent  discoursing  with  a  number  of 
gentlemen  who  hung  over  her  with  polite  attentions. 
They  were  well-known  bachelors  of  advanced  ideas 
-  men  with  honorary  titles  and  personal  ambitions. 
The  great  suffragist  was  very  much  at  home  with 
them.  Her  deep,  musical  voice  resounded  like  a  bell 
as  she  uttered  her  dicta  and  her  witticisms.  She — 
like  the  men — was  smoking  a  cigarette,  a  feat  which 
she  performed  without  coquetry  or  consciousness. 
She  was  smoking  because  she  liked  to  smoke.  It  took 
no  more  than  a  glance  to  reveal  the  fact  that  she 
was  further  along  in  her  pregnancy  than  Marna  — 
Marna  who  started  back  from  the  door  when  a 
stranger  appeared  at  it  lest  she  should  seem  immo 
dest.  But  the  suffragette,  having  acquired  an  ap 
plauding  and  excellent  husband,  saw  no  reason  why 
she  should  apologize  to  the  world  for  the  processes 
of  nature.  Quite  as  unconscious  of  her  condition  as 
of  her  unconventionality  in  smoking,  she  discoursed 
with  these  diverted  men,  her  transparent  frock  re 
vealing  the  full  beauties  of  her  neck  and  bust,  her 
handsome  arms  well  displayed  —  frankly  and  insis 
tently  feminine,  yet  possessing  herself  without  hesi 
tation  of  what  may  be  termed  the  masculine  attitude 
toward  life. 

For  some  reason  which  Kate  did  not  attempt  to 
define,  she  refrained  from  discussing  the  Bureau  of 
Children  with  the  celebrated  suffragette,  although 
she  did  not  doubt  that  the  Englishwoman  would 
have  been  capable  of  keen  and  valuable  criticism. 

239 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Instead,  she  returned  to  the  city,  sent  a  box  of  vio 
lets  to  Marna,  and  then  went  on  to  her  attic  room. 

A  letter  was  awaiting  her  from  the  West.   It  read : 

"My  DEAR  Miss  HARRINGTON :  — 

"Honora  and  the  kiddies  are  here.  I  have  given 
my  cousin  a  room  where  she  can  see  the  mountains 
on  two  sides,  and  I  hope  it  will  help.  I  Ve  known  the 
hills  to  help,  even  with  pretty  rough  customers.  It 
won't  take  a  creature  like  Honora  long  to  get  hold 
of  the  secret,  will  it?  You  know  what  I  mean,  I  guess. 

"  I  wish  you  had  come.  I  watched  the  turn  in  the 
drive  to  see  if  you  would  n't  be  in  the  station  wagon. 
There  were  two  women's  heads.  I  recognized  Ho- 
nora's,  and  I  tried  to  think  the  second  one  was  yours, 
but  I  really  knew  it  was  n't.  It  was  a  low  head  —  one 
of  that  patient  sort  of  heads  —  and  a  flat,  lid-like 
hat.  The  nurse's,  of  course !  I  suppose  you  wear 
helmet-shaped  hats  with  wings  on  them  —  some 
thing  like  Mercury's  or  Diana's.  Or  don't  they  sell 
that  kind  of  millinery  nowadays? 

"Honora  tells  me  you're  trying  to  run  the  world 
and  that  you  make  up  to  all  kinds  of  people  —  hold 
up  men  as  well  as  preachers.  Do  you  know,  I'm 
something  like  that  myself?  I  can't  help  it,  but  I  do 
seem  to  enjoy  folks.  One  of  the  pleasantest  nights  I 
ever  spent  was  with  a  lot  of  bandits  in  a  cave.  I  was 
their  prisoner,  too,  which  complicated  matters.  But 
we  had  such  a  bully  time  that  they  asked  me  to  join 

240 


THE  PRECIPICE 

them.  I  told  them  I  'd  like  the  life  in  some  respects. 
I  could  see  it  was  a  sort  of  game  not  unlike  some  I  'd 
played  when  I  was  a  boy.  But  it  would  have  made 
me  nervous,  so  I  had  to  refuse  them. 

"Well,  I  'm  talking  nonsense.  What  if  you  should 
think  I  counted  it  sense !  That  would  be  bad  for  me. 
I  only  thought  you'd  be  having  so  may  pious  and 
proper  letters  that  I  'd  have  to  give  you  a  jog  if  I  got 
you  to  answer  this.  And  I  do  wish  you  would  answer 
it.  I'm  a  lonely  man,  though  a  busy  one.  Of  course 
it's  going  to  be  a  tremendous  comfort  having  Ho- 
nora  here  when  once  she  gets  to  be  herself.  She 's  wild 
with  pain  now,  and  nothing  she  says  means  anything. 
We  play  chess  a  good  deal,  after  a  fashion.  Honora 
thinks  she 's  amusing  me,  but  as  I  like  '  the  rigor  of 
the  game,'  I  can't  say  that  I  'm  amused  at  her  plays. 
The  first  time  she  thinks  before  she  moves  I  '11  know 
she 's  over  the  worst  of  her  trouble.  She  seems  very 
weak,  but  I  'm  feeding  her  on  cream  and  eggs.  The 
kiddies  are  dears  —  just  as  cute  as  young  owls. 
They  're  not  afraid  of  me  even  when  I  pretend  I  'm 
a  coyote  and  howl. 

"Do  write  to  me,  Miss  Barrington.  I  'm  as  crude 
as  a  cabbage,  but  when  I  say  I  'd  rather  have  you 
write  me  than  have  any  piece  of  good  fortune  be 
fall  me  which  your  wildest  imagination  could  depict, 
I  mean  it.  Perhaps  that  will  scare  you  off.  Anyway, 
you  can't  say  I  did  n't  play  fair. 

"I'm  worn  out  sitting  around  with  this  fractured 
leg  of  mine  in  its  miserable  cast.  (I  know  stronger 

241 


THE  PRECIPICE 

words  than  'miserable,'  but  I  use  it  because  I'm 
determined  to  behave  myself.)  Honora  says  she 
thinks  it  would  be  all  right  for  you  to  correspond 
with  me.  I  asked  her. 

"  Yours  faithfully, 

"KARL  WANDER." 

"What  a  ridiculous  boy,"  said  Kate  to  herself. 
She  laughed  aloud  with  a  rippling  merriment;  and 
then,  after  a  little  silence,  she  laughed  again. 

"The  man  certainly  is  nai'f,"  she  said.  "Can 
he  really  expect  me  to  answer  a  letter  like 
that?" 

She  awoke  several  times  that  night,  and  each  time 
she  gave  a  fleeting  thought  to  the  letter.  She  seemed 
to  see  it  before  her  eyes  —  a  purple  eidolon,  a  paral 
lelogram  in  shape.  It  flickered  up  and  down  like  an 
electric  sign.  When  morning  came  she  was  quite 
surprised  to  find  the  letter  was  existent  and  station 
ary.  She  read  it  again,  and  she  wished  tremendously 
that  she  might  answer  it.  It  occurred  to  her  that  in  a 
way  she  never  had  had  any  fun.  She  had  been  per 
sistently  earnest,  passionately  honest,  absurdly  grim. 
Now  to  answer  that  letter  would  come  under  the  head 
of  mere  frolic!  Yet  would  it?  Was  not  this  curious, 
outspoken  man  —  this  gigantic,  good-hearted,  ab 
surd  boy  —  giving  her  notice  that  he  was  ready  to 
turn  into  her  lover  at  the  slightest  gesture  of  acqui 
escence  on  her  part?  No,  the  frolic  would  soon  end. 
It  would  be  another  of  those  appalling  games-for- 

242 


THE   PRECIPICE 

life,  those  woman-trap  affairs.   And  she  liked  free 
dom  better  than  anything. 

She  went  off  to  her  work  in  a  defiant  frame  of 
mind,  carrying,  however,  the  letter  with  her  in  her 
handbag. 

What  she  did  write  —  after  several  days'  delay  — 
was  this :  — 

"Mv  DEAR  MR.  WANDER:  — 

"  I  can  see  that  Honora  is  in  the  best  place  in  the 
world  for  her.  You  must  let  me  know  when  she  has 
checkmated  you.  I  quite  agree  that  that  will  show 
the  beginning  of  her  recovery.  She  has  had  a  terrible 
misfortune,  and  it  was  the  outcome  of  a  disease 
from  which  all  of  us  '  advanced '  women  are  suffering. 
Her  convictions  and  her  instincts  were  at  war.  I 
can't  imagine  what  is  going  to  happen  to  us.  We  all 
feel  very  unsettled,  and  Honora's  tragedy  is  only 
one  of  several  sorts  which  may  come  to  any  of  us. 
But  an  instinct  deeper  than  instinct,  a  conviction 
beyond  conviction,  tells  me  that  we  are  right  —  that 
we  must  go  on,  studying,  working,  developing.  We 
may  have  to  pay  a  fearful  price  for  our  advancement, 
but  I  do  not  suppose  we  could  turn  back  now  if  we 
would. 

"You  ask  if  I  will  correspond  with  you.  Well,  do 
you  suppose  we  really  have  anything  to  say?  What, 
for  example,  have  you  to  tell  me  about?  Honora  says 
you  own  a  mine,  or  two  or  three ;  that  you  have  a  city 

243 


THE  PRECIPICE 

of  workmen;  that  you  are  a  father  to  them.  Are  they 
Italians?  I  think  she  said  so.  They're  grateful  folk, 
the  Italians.  I  hope  they  like  you.  They  are  so  sweet 
when  they  do,  and  so  —  sudden  —  when  they  don't. 

"  I  have  had  something  to  do  with  them,  and  they 
are  very  dear  to  me.  They  ask  me  to  their  christen 
ings  and  to  other  festivals.  I  like  their  gayety 
because  it  contrasts  with  my  own  disposition,  which 
is  gloomy. 

"Upon  reflection,  I  think  we'd  better  not  write 
to  each  other.  You  were  too  explicit  in  your  letter 
—  too  precautionary.  You  'd  make  me  have  a  con 
science  about  it,  and  I  'd  be  watching  myself.  That  's 
too  much  trouble.  My  business  is  to  watch  others, 
not  myself.  But  I  do  thank  you  for  giving  such  a 
welcome  to  Honora  and  the  babies.  I  hope  you  will 
soon  be  about  again.  I  find  it  so  much  easier  to 
imagine  you  riding  over  a  mountain  pass  than  sit 
ting  in  the  house  with  a  leg  in  plaster. 

"Yours  sincerely, 

"KATE  BARRINGTON." 

He  wrote  back:  — 


DEAR  Miss  BARRINGTON:  — 
"I  admire  your  idea  of  gloom!  Not  the  spirit  of 
gloom  but  of  adventure  moves  you.  I  saw  it  in  your 
eye.  When  I  buy  a  horse,  I  always  look  at  his  eye. 
It's  not  so  much  viciousness  that  I'm  afraid  of  as 
stupidity.  I  like  a  horse  that  is  always  pressing  for- 

244 


THE  PRECIPICE 

ward  to  see  what  is  around  the  next  turn.  Now,  we 
humans  are  a  good  deal  like  horses.  Women  are, 
anyway.  And  I  saw  your  eye.  My  own  opinion  is 
*  that  you  are  having  the  finest  time  of  anybody  I 
*  know.  You  're  shaping  your  own  life,  at  least,  —  and 
that's  the  best  fun  there  is,  —  the  best  kind  of  good 
'fortune.  Of  course  you  '11  get  tired  of  it  after  a  while. 
'I  don't  say  that  because  you  are  a  woman,  but  I  've 
fSeen  it  happen  over  and  over  again  both  with  men 
&nd  women.  After  a  little  while  they  get  tired  of 
proving  and  come  home. 

"You  may  not  believe  it,  but,  after  all,  that's  the 
great  moment  in  their  lives  —  you  just  take  it  from 
me  who  have  seen  more  than  you  might  think  and 
who  have  had  a  good  deal  of  time  to  think  things  out. 
I  do  wish  you  had  seen  your  way  to  come  out  here. 
There  are  any  number  of  matters  I  would  like  to  talk 
over  with  you. 

"You  must  n't  think  me  impudent  for  writing  in 
this  familiar  way.  I  write  frankly  because  I  'm  sure 
you'll  understand,  and  the  conventionalities  have 
been  cast  aside  because  in  this  case  they  seem  so 
immaterial.  I  can  assure  you  that  I  'm  not  impu 
dent —  not  where  women  are  concerned,  at  any  rate. 
I  'm  a  born  lover  of  women,  though  I  have  been  no 
woman's  lover.  I  have  n't  seen  much  of  them.  Some 
times  I  Ve  gone  a  year  without  seeing  one,  not  even 
a  squaw.  But  I  judge  them  by  my  mother,  who  made 
every  one  happy  who  came  near  her,  and  by  some 
others  I  have  known;  I  judge  them  by  you,  though  I 

245 


THE  PRECIPICE 

saw  you  only  a  minute.  I  suppose  you  will  think  me 
crazy  or  insincere  in  saying  that.  I  'm  both  sane  and 
honest  —  ask  Honora. 

"You  speak  of  my  Italians.  They  are  making  me 
trouble.   We  have  been  good  friends  and  they  have 
been  happy  here.    I  gave  them  lots  to  build  on  if 
they  would  put  up  homes;  and  I  advanced  the  capi 
tal  for  the  cottages  and  let  them  pay  me  four  per 
cent  —  the  lowest  possible  interest.    I  got  a  school 
for  their  children  and  good  teachers,  and  I  interested 
the  church  down  in  Denver  to  send  a  priest  out  here 
and  establish  a  mission.    I  thought  we  understood 
|  each  other,  and  that  they  comprehended  that  their 
I  prosperity  and  mine  were  bound  up  together.    But 
.  an  agitator  came  here  the  other  day,  —  sent  by 
the  unions,   of  course,  —  and   there 's  discontent. 
l  They  have  lost  the  friendly  look  from  their  eyes, 
and  the  men  turn  out  of  their  way  to  avoid  speaking 
to  me.  Since  I  Ve  been  laid  up  here,  things  have  been 
going  badly.   There  have  been  meetings  and  a  good 
deal  of  hard  talk.    I  suppose  I  'm  in  for  a  fight,  and 
-  I  tell  you  it  hurts.   I  feel  like  a  man  at  war  with  his 
•children.  As  I  feel  just  now,  I  'd  throw  up  the  whole 
thing  rather  than  row  with  them,  but  the  money  of 
other  men  is  invested  in  these  mines  and  I  'm  the  cus 
todian  of  it.   So  I  Ve  no  choice  in  the  matter.    Per 
haps,  too,  it's  for  their  own  good  that  they  should 
be  made  to  see  reason.   What  do  you  say? 

"Faithfully, 

"WANDER." 
246 


THE   PRECIPICE 

Honora  wrote  the  same  day  and  to  her  quiet 
report  of  improved  nights  and  endurable  days  she 
added : — 

"I  hope  you  will  answer  my  cousin's  letter.  I 
can't  tell  you  what  a  good  man  he  is,  and  so  boyish, 
in  spite  of  his  being  strong  and  perfectly  brave  — 
oh,  brave  to  the  death !  He 's  very  lonely.  He  always 
has  been.  You'll  have  to  make  allowances  for  his 
being  so  Western  and  going  right  to  the  point  in  such 
a  reckless  way.  He  has  n't  told  me  what  he 's  written 
you,  but  I  know  if  he  wants  to  be  friends  with  you 
he'll  say  so  without  any  preliminaries.  He's  very 
eager  to  have  me  talk  of  you,  so  I  do.  I  'm  eager  to 
talk,  too.  I  always  loved  you,  Kate,  but  now  I  put 
you  and  Karl  in  a  class  by  yourselves  as  the  com 
pletely  dependable  ones. 

"The  babies  send  kisses.  Don't  worry  about  me. 
I  'm  beginning  to  see  that  it's  not  extraordinary  for 
trouble  to  have  come  to  me.  Why  not  to  me  as  well 
as  to  another?  I  'm  one  of  the  great  company  of  sad 
ones  now.  But  I  'm  not  going  to  be  melancholy.  I 
know  how  disappointed  you  'd  be  if  I  were.  I  'm  be 
ginning  to  sleep  better,  and  for  all  of  this  still,  dark 
cavern  in  my  heart,  so  filled  with  voices  of  the  past 
and  with  the  horrible  chill  of  the  present,  I  am  able 
to  laugh  a  little  at  passing  things.  I  find  myself  doing 
it  involuntarily.  So  at  least  I've  got  where  I  can 
hear  what  the  people  about  me  are  saying,  and  can 
make  a  fitting  reply.  Yes,  do  write  Karl.  For  my 
sake." 


XXI 

MEANTIME,  Ray  McCrea  had  neglected  to  take  his 
summer  vacation.  He  was  staying  in  the  city,  and 
twice  a  week  he  called  on  Kate.  Kate  liked  him 
neither  more  nor  less  than  at  the  beginning.  He  was 
clever  and  he  was  kind,  and  it  was  his  delight  to 
make  her  happy.  But  it  was  with  the  surface  of  her 
understanding  that  she  listened  to  him  and  the 
skimmings  of  her  thoughts  that  she  passed  to  him. 
He  had  that  light,  acrid  accent  of  well-to-do  Ameri 
can  men.  Reasonably  contented  himself,  he  failed  to 
see  why  every  one  else  should  not  be  so,  too.  He  was 
not  religious  for  the  same  reason  that  he  was  not  ir 
religious  —  because  it  seemed  to  him  useless  to  think 
about  such  matters.  Public  affairs  and  politics  failed 
to  interest  him  because  he  believed  that  the  country 
was  in  the  hands  of  a  mob  and  that  the  "grafters 
would  run  things  anyway."  He  called  eloquence 
spell-binding,  and  sentiment  slush,  —  sentiment, 
that  is,  in  books  and  on  the  stage,  —  and  he  was 
indulgently  inclined  to  suspect  that  there  was  some 
thing  "in  it"  for  whoever  appeared  to  be  essaying 
a  benevolent  enterprise.  Respectable,  liberal-handed, 
habitually  amused,  slightly  caustic,  he  looked  out 
for  the  good  of  himself  and  those  related  to  him  and 
considered  that  he  was  justified  in  closing  his  corpo 
rate  regards  at  that  point.  He  had  no  cant  and  no 

248 


THE  PRECIPICE 

hypocrisy,  no  pose  and  no  fads.  A  sane,  aggressive, 
self -centered,  rational  materialist  of  the  American 
brand,  it  was  not  only  his  friends  who  thought  him 
a  fine  fellow.  He  himself  would  have  admitted  so 
much  and  have  been  perfectly  justified  in  so  doing. 

Kate  received  flowers,  books,  and  sweets  from  him, 
and  now  and  then  he  asked  her  why  he  had  lost 
ground  with  her.  Sometimes  he  would  say :  — 

"  I  can  see  a  conservative  policy  is  the  one  for  me, 
Kate,  where  you  're  concerned.  I  'm  going  to  lie  low 
so  as  not  to  give  you  a  chance  to  send  me  whistling." 

Once,  when  he  grew  picturesquely  melancholy,  she 
refused  to  receive  his  offerings.  She  told  him  he  was 
making  a  villainess  out  of  her,  and  that  she'd  end 
their  meetings.  But  at  that  he  promised  so  ardently 
not  to  be  ardent  that  she  forgave  him  and  continued 
to  read  the  novels  and  to  tend  the  flowers  he  brought 
her.  They  went  for  walks  together;  sometimes  she 
lunched  with  him  in  the  city,  and  on  pleasant  even 
ings  they  attended  open-air  concerts.  He  tried  to  be 
discreet,  but  in  August,  with  the  full  moon,  he  had 
a  relapse.  Kate  gave  him  warning ;  he  persisted,  — 
the  moon  really  was  quite  wonderful  that  August, 
—  and  then,  to  his  chagrin,  he  received  a  postcard 
from  Silvertree.  Kate  had  gone  to  see  her  father. 

She  would  not  have  gone  but  for  a  chance  word 
in  one  of  Wander's  letters. 

"I  hear  your  father  is  still  living,"  he  wrote. 
"That  is  so  good!  I  have  no  parents  now,  but  I  like 

249 


THE   PRECIPICE 

to  remember  how  happy  I  was  when  I  had  them.  I 
was  young  when  my  mother  died,  but  father  lived  to 
a  good  age,  and  as  long  as  he  was  alive  I  had  some 
one  to  do  things  for.  He  always  liked  to  hear  of  my 
exploits.  I  was  a  hero  to  him,  if  I  never  was  to  any 
one  else.  It  kept  my  heart  warmed  up,  and  when  he 
went  he  left  me  very  lonely,  indeed." 

Kate  reddened  with  shame  when  she  read  these 
words.  Had  Honora  told  him  how  she  had  deserted 
her  father  —  how  she  had  run  from  him  and  his 
tyranny  to  live  her  own  life,  and  was  he,  Wander, 
meaning  this  for  a  rebuke?  But  she  knew  that  could 
not  be.  Honora  would  have  kept  her  counsel;  she 
was  not  a  tattler.  Karl  was  merely  congratulating 
her  on  a  piece  of  good  fortune,  apparently.  It  threw 
a  new  light  on  the  declaration  of  independence  that 
had  seemed  to  her  to  be  so  fine.  Was  old-time  senti 
ment  right,  after  all?  The  ancient  law,  "Honor  thy 
father  and  thy  mother,"  did  not  put  in  the  proviso, 
"if  they  are  according  to  thy  notion  of  what  they 
should  be." 

So  Kate  was  again  at  Silvertree  and  in  the  old, 
familiar  and  now  lifeless  house.  It  was  not  now  a 
caressed  and  pampered  home;  there  was  no  longer 
any  one  there  to  trick  it  out  in  foolish  affectionate 
adornments.  In  the  first  half-hour,  while  Kate 
roamed  from  room  to  room,  she  could  hardly  endure 
the  appalling  blankness  of  the  place.  No  stranger 
could  have  felt  so  unwelcomed  as  she  did  —  so  alien, 
so  inconsolably  homeless. 

250 


THE  PRECIPICE 

She  was  waiting  for  her  father  when  he  came  home, 
and  she  hoped  to  warm  him  a  little  by  the  surprise 
of  her  arrival.  But  it  was  his  cue  to  be  deeply  offended 
with  her. 

"Hullo,  Kate,"  he  said,  nodding  and  holding  out 
his  hand  with  a  deliberately  indifferent  gesture. 

''Oh,  see  here,  dad,  you  know  you've  got  to  kiss 
me!"  she  cried. 

So  he  did,  rather  shamefacedly,  and  they  sat 
together  on  the  dusty  veranda  and  talked.  He  had 
been  well,  he  said,  but  he  was  far  from  looking  so. 
His  face  was  gray  and  drawn,  his  lips  were  pale, 
and  his  long  skillful  surgeon's  hands  looked  inert  and 
weary.  When  he  walked,  he  had  the  effect  of  drag 
ging  his  feet  after  him. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  take  a  vacation,  dad?" 
Kate  demanded.  "If  ever  a  man  appeared  to  be  in 
need  of  it,  you  do." 

"What  would  I  do  with  a  vacation?  And  where 
could  I  go?  I  'd  look  fine  at  a  summer  resort,  would  n't 
I,  sitting  around  with  idle  fools?  If  I  could  only 
go  somewhere  to  get  rid  of  this  damned  neurasthenia 
that  all  the  fool  women  think  they've  got,  I'd  go; 
but  I  don't  suppose  there's  such  a  place  this  side  of 
the  Arctic  Circle." 

Kate  regarded  him  for  a  moment  without  answer 
ing.  She  saw  he  was  almost  at  the  end  of  his  strength 
and  a  victim  of  the  very  malady  against  which  he 
was  railing.  The  constant  wear  and  tear  of  country 
practice,  year  in  and  year  out,  had  depleted  him  of 

251 


THE  PRECIPICE 

a  magnificent  stock  of  energy  and  endurance.  Per 
haps,  too,  she  had  had  her  share  of  responsibility  in 
his  decline,  for  she  had  been  severe  with  him ;  had 
defied  him  when  she  might  have  comforted  him.  She 
forgot  his  insolence,  his  meanness,  his  conscienceless 
hectoring,  as  she  saw  how  his  temples  seemed  fallen 
in  and  how  his  gray  hair  straggled  over  his  brow. 
It  was  she  who  assumed  the  voice  of  authority  now. 

"There's  going  to  be  a  vacation,"  she  announced, 
"and  it  will  be  quite  a  long  one.  Put  your  practice 
in  the  hands  of  some  one  else,  let  your  housekeeper 
take  a  rest,  and  then  you  come  away  with  me.  I  '11 
give  you  three  days  to  get  ready." 

He  cast  at  her  the  old  sharp,  lance-like  look  of  op 
position,  but  she  stood  before  him  so  strong,  so  kind, 
so  daughterly  (so  motherly,  too),  that,  for  one  of 
the  few  times  in  his  life  of  senseless  domination  and 
obstinacy,  he  yielded.  The  tears  came  to  his  eyes. 

"All  right,  Kate,"  he  said  with  an  accent  of 
capitulation.  He  really  was  a  broken  old  man. 

She  passed  a  happy  evening  with  him  looking  over 
advertisements  of  forest  inns  and  fishing  resorts, 
and  though  no  decision  was  reached,  both  of  them 
went  to  bed  in  a  state  of  pleasant  anticipation.  The 
following  day  she  took  his  affairs  in  hand.  The  house 
keeper  was  delighted  at  her  release ;  a  young  physi 
cian  was  pleased  to  take  charge  of  Dr.  Harrington's 
patients. 

Kate  made  him  buy  new  clothes,  —  he  had  been 
wearing  winter  ones,  —  and  she  set  him  out  in  pic- 

252 


THE   PRECIPICE 

turesque  gear  suiting  his  lank  length  and  old-time 
manner.  Then  she  induced  him  to  select  a  place 
far  north  in  the  Wisconsin  woods,  and  the  third  day 
they  were  journeying  there  together. 

It  seemed  quite  incredible  that  the  dependent 
and  affectionate  man  opposite  her  was  the  one  who 
had  filled  her  with  fear  and  resentment  such  a  short 
time  ago.  She  found  herself  actually  laughing  aloud 
once  at  the  absurdity  of  it  all.  Had  her  dread  of  him 
been  fortuitous,  his  tyranny  a  mere  sham?  Had  he 
really  liked  her  all  the  time,  and  had  she  been  a  sen 
sitive  fool?  She  would  have  thought  so,  indeed,  but 
for  the  memory  of  the  perplexed  and  distracted  face 
of  her  mother,  the  cringing  and  broken  spirit  of  her 
who  missed  truth  through  an  obsession  of  love.  No, 
no,  a  tyrant  he  had  been,  one  of  a  countless  army  of 
them! 

But  now  he  leaned  back  on  his  seat  very  sad  of 
eye,  inert  of  gesture,  without  curiosity  or  much  ex 
pectancy.  He  let  her  do  everything  for  him.  She  felt 
her  heart  warming  as  she  served  him.  She  could 
hardly  keep  herself  from  stooping  to  kiss  his  great 
brow;  the  hollows  of  his  eyes  when  he  was  sleeping 
moved  her  to  a  passion  of  pity.  After  all,  he  was  her 
own ;  and  now  she  had  him  again.  The  bitterness  of 
years  began  to  die,  and  with  it  much  of  that  secret, 
instinctive  aversion  to  men  —  that  terror  of  being 
trapped  and  held  to  some  uninspiring  association  or 
dragging  task. 

For  now,  when  her  father  awoke  from  one  of  his 
253 


THE   PRECIPICE 

many  naps,  he  would  turn  to  her  with:  "Have  I 
slept  long,  Kate?"  or  "We'll  be  going  in  to  lunch 
soon,  I  suppose, daughter? "  or  "Will  it  be  very  long 
now  before  we  reach  our  destination?" 

It  was  reached  at  dawn  of  an  early  autumn  day, 
and  they  drove  ten  miles  into  the  pine  woods.  The 
scented  silence  took  them.  They  were  at  "God's 
green  caravansarie,"  and  the  rancor  that  had  pois 
oned  their  hearts  was  gone.  They  turned  toward 
each  other  in  common  trust,  father  and  daughter, 
forgiving,  if  not  all  forgetting,  the  hurt  and  angry 
years. 

"  It  really  was  your  cousin  who  brought  it  about," 
Kate  wrote  Honora.  "He  reminded  me  that  I  was 
fortunate  to  have  a  father.  You  see,  I  had  n't  real 
ized  it!  Oh,  Honora,  what  a  queer  girl  I  am  —  al 
ways  having  to  think  things  out!  Always  making 
myself  miserable  in  trying  to  be  happy!  Always 
going  wrong  in  striving  to  be  right !  I  should  think 
the  gods  would  make  Olympus  ring  laughing  at  me ! 
I  once  wrote  your  cousin  that  women  of  my  sort 
were  worn  out  with  their  struggle  to  reconcile  their 
convictions  and  their  instincts.  And  that's  true. 
That's  what  is  making  them  so  restless  and  so 
strange  and  tumultuous.  But  of  course  I  can't  think 
it  their  fault  —  merely  their  destiny.  Something 
is  happening  to  them,  but  neither  they  nor  any  one 
else  can  quite  tell  what  it  is." 

Dr.  Barrington  •  was  broken,  no  question  about 
254 


THE  PRECIPICE 

that.  Even  the  stimulation  of  the  incomparable  air 
of  those  Northern  woods  could  not  charge  him  with 
vitality.  He  lay  wrapped  in  blankets,  on  the  bed 
improvised  for  him  beneath  the  trees,  or  before  the 
leaping  fire  in  the  inn,  with  the  odors  of  the  burn 
ing  pine  about  him,  and  he  let  time  slip  by  as  it 
would. 

The  people  at  the  inn  thought  they  never  had  seen 
a  more  devoted  daughter  than  his.  She  sat  beside 
him  while  he  slept;  she  read  or  talked  to  him  softly 
when  he  awakened ;  she  was  at  hand  with  some  light 
but  sustaining  refreshment  whenever  he  seemed 
depressed  or  too  relaxed.  But  there  were  certain 
things  which  the  inn  people  could  not  make  out. 
The  sick  man  had  the  air  of  having  forgiven  this 
fine  girl  for  something.  He  received  her  service  like 
one  who  had  the  right  to  expect  it.  He  was  tender 
and  he  was  happy,  but  he  was,  after  all,  the  dom- 
inator.  Nor  could  they  quite  make  out  the  girl,  who 
smiled  at  his  demands,  —  which  were  sometimes 
incessant,  —  and  who  obeyed  with  the  perfect  pa 
tience  of  the  strong.  They  did  not  know  that  if  he 
had  once  been  an  active  tyrant,  he  was  now  a  supine 
one.  As  he  had  been  unable,  for  all  of  his  intelligence, 
to  perceive  the  meaning  of  justice  from  the  old 
angle,  so  he  was  equally  unable  to  get  it  from  his 
present  point  of  view.  He  had  been  harsh  with  his 
daughter  in  the  old  days;  so  much  he  would  have 
admitted.  That  he  would  have  frustrated  her  com 
pletely,  absorbed  and  wasted  her  power,  he  could 

255 


THE  PRECIPICE 

not  perceive.  He  did  not  surmise  that  he  was  now 
doing  in  an  amiable  fashion  what  he  hitherto  had 
tried  to  do  in  a  masterful  and  insolent  one.  He  did 
not  realize  that  the  tyranny  of  the  weak  is  a  more 
destructive  thing  when  levelled  at  the  generous  than 
the  tyranny  of  the  strong. 

Had  he  been  interrupted  in  mid-career  —  in  those 
days  when  his  surgery  was  sure  and  bold  —  to  care 
for  a  feeble  and  complaining  wife,  he  would  havef 
thought  himself  egregiously  abused.  That  Kate, 
whose  mail  each  day  exceeded  by  many  times  that 
which  he  had  received  in  his  most  influential  years, 
whose  correspondence  was  with  persons  with  whom 
he  could  not  at  any  time  have  held  communication, 
should  be  taken  from  her  active  duties  appeared  to 
him  as  nothing.  He  was  a  sick  father.  His  daughter 
attended  him  in  love  and  dutifulness.  He  was  at 
peace  —  and  he  knew  she  was  doing  her  duty.  It 
really  did  not  occur  to  him  that  she  or  any  one  else 
could  have  looked  at  the  matter  in  a  different  light, 
or  that  any  loving  expression  of  regret  was  due  her. 
Such  sacrifices  were  expected  of  women.  They  were 
not  expected  of  men,  although  men  sometimes  mag 
nificently  performed  them. 

To  tell  the  truth,  no  such  idea  occurred  to  Kate 
either.  She  was  as  happy  as  her  father.  At  last, 
in  circumstances  sad  enough,  she  had  reached  a  de 
gree  of  understanding  with  him.  She  had  no  thought 
for  the  inconvenience  under  which  she  worked.  She 
was  more  than  willing  to  sit  till  past  the  middle  of 

,256 


THE  PRECIPICE 

the  night  answering  her  letters,  postponing  her  en 
gagements,  sustaining  her  humbler  and  more  un 
happy  friends  —  those  who  were  under  practical 
parole  to  her  —  with  her  encouragement,  and  al 
ways,  day  by  day,  extending  the  idea  of  the  Bureau 
of  Children.  For  daily  it  took  shape;  daily  the  sys 
tem  of  organization  became  more  apparent  to  her. 
She  wrote  to  Ray  McCrea  about  it;  she  wrote  to 
Karl  Wander  on  the  same  subject.  It  seemed  to  suf 
fice  or  almost  to  suffice  her.  It  kept  her  from  antici 
pating  the  details  of  the  melancholy  drama  which 
was  now  being  enacted  before  her  eyes. 

For  her  father  was  passing.  His  weakness  in 
creased,  and  his  attitude  toward  life  became  one  of 
gentle  indifference.  He  was  homesick  for  his  wife, 
too.  Though  he  had  seemed  to  take  so  little  satis 
faction  in  her  society,  and  had  not  scrupled  when  she 
was  alive  to  show  the  contempt  he  felt  for  her  opin 
ions,  now  he  liked  to  talk  of  her.  He  had  made  a 
great  outcry  against  sentiment  all  of  his  life,  but  in 
his  weakness  he  found  his  chief  consolation  in  it. 
He  had  been  a  materialist,  denying  immortality  for 
the  soul,  but  now  he  reverted  to  the  phrases  of  pious 
men  of  the  past  generation. 

"I  shall  be  seeing  your  mother  soon,  Kate,"  he 
would  say  wistfully,  holding  his  daughter's  hand. 
Kate  was  involuntarily  touched  by  such  words,  but 
she  was  ashamed  for  him,  too.  Where  was  all  his 
hard-won,  bravely  flaunted  infidelity?  Where  his 
scientific  outlook? 

257 


THE  PRECIPICE 

It  was  only  slowly,  and  as  the  result  of  her  daily 
and  nightly  association  with  him,  that  she  began  to 
see  how  his  acquired  convictions  were  slipping  away 
from  him,  leaving  the  sentiments  and  predilections 
which  had  been  his  when  he  was  a  boy.  Had  he 
never  been  a  strong  man,  really,  and  had  his  violence 
of  opinion  and  his  arrogance  of  demeanor  been  the 
defences  erected  by  a  man  of  spiritual  timidity  and 
restless,  excitable  brain?  Had  his  assertiveness,  like 
his  compliance,  been  part  and  parcel  of  a  mind  not 
at  peace,  not  grounded  in  a  definite  faith?  Perhaps 
he  had  been  afraid  of  the  domination  of  his  gentle 
wife  with  her  soft  insistence,  and  had  girded  at  her 
throughout  the  years  because  of  mere  fanatic  self- 
esteem.  But  now  that  she  had  so  long  been  beyond 
the  reach  of  his  whimsical  commands,  he  turned  to 
the  thought  of  her  like  a  yearning  child  to  its 
mother. 

"If  you  hadn't  come  when  you  did,  Kate,"  he 
would  say,  weeping  with  self-pity,  "I  should  have 
died  alone.  I  would  n't  own  to  any  one  how  sick 
I  was.  Why,  one  night  I  was  so  weak,  after  being 
out  thirty-six  hours  with  a  sick  woman,  that  I  had 
to  creep  upstairs  on  my  hands  and  knees."  He 
sobbed  for  a  moment  piteously,  his  nerves  too  tat 
tered  to  permit  him  to  retain  any  semblance  of  self- 
control.  Kate  tried  in  vain  to  soothe  him.  "What 
Would  your  mother  have  thought  if  you  had  let  me 
die  alone?"  he  demanded  of  her. 

It  was  useless  for  her  to  say  that  he  had  not  told 
258 


THE   PRECIPICE 

her  he  was  ill.  He  was  in  no  condition  to  face  the 
truth.  He  was  completely  shattered  —  the  victim  of 
a  country  physician's  practice  and  of  an  unrestrained 
irritability.  Her  commiseration  had  been  all  that 
was  needed  to  have  him  yield  himself  unreservedly 
to  her  care. 

It  had  been  her  intention  to  stay  in  the  woods 
with  him  for  a  fortnight,  but  the  end  of  that  time 
found  his  lassitude  increasing  and  his  need  for  her 
greater  than  ever.  She  was  obliged  to  ask  for  indefi 
nite  leave  of  absence.  A  physician  came  from  Mil 
waukee  once  a  week  to  see  him ;  and  meantime  quiet 
and  comfort  were  his  best  medicines. 

The  autumn  began  to  deepen.  The  pines  accen 
tuated  their  solemnity,  and  out  on  the  roadways  the 
hazel  bushes  and  the  sumac  changed  to  canary,  to 
russet,  and  to  crimson.  For  days  together  the  sky 
would  be  cloudless,  and  even  in  the  dead  of  night 
the  vault  seemed  to  retain  its  splendor.  There  are 
curious  cloths  woven  on  Persian  and  on  Turkish 
looms  which  appear  to  the  casual  eye  to  be  merely 
black,  but  which  held  in  sunlight  show  green  and 
blue,  purple  and  bronze,  like  the  shifting  colors  on  a 
duck's  back.  Kate,  pacing  back  and  forth  in  the 
night  after  hours  of  concentrated  labor,  —  labor 
which  could  be  performed  only  when  her  father  was 
resting,  —  noted  such  mysterious  and  evasive  hues 
in  her  Northern  sky.  Never  had  she  seen  heavens  so 
triumphant.  True,  the  stars  shone  with  a  remote 
glory,  but  she  was  more  inspired  by  their  enduring, 

259 


THE  PRECIPICE 

their  impersonal  magnificence,  than  she  could  have 
been  by  anything  relative  to  herself. 

A  year  ago,  had  she  been  so  isolated,  she  might 
have  found  herself  lonely,  but  it  was  quite  different 
now.  She  possessed  links  with  the  active  world. I 
There  were  many  who  wanted  her  —  some  for  small 
and  some  for  great  things.  She  felt  herself  in  the 
stream  of  life;  it  poured  about  her,  an  invisible 
thing,  but  strong  and  deep.  Sympathy,  understand 
ing,  encouragement,  reached  her  even  there  in  her 
solitude  and  heartened  her.  Weary  as  she  often  was 
physically,  drained  as  she  could  not  but  be  men 
tally,  her  heart  was  warm  and  full. 

October  came  and  went  bringing  little  change  in 
Dr.  Barrington's  condition.  It  did  not  seem  advis 
able  to  move  him.  Rest  and  care  were  the  things 
required;  and  the  constant  ministrations  of  a  phy 
sician  would  have  been  of  little  benefit.  Kate  prayed 
for  a  change;  and  it  came,  but  not  as  she  had  hoped. 
One  morning  she  went  to  her  father  to  find  him 
terribly  altered.  It  was  as  if  some  blight  had  fallen 
upon  him  in  the  night.  His  face  was  gray  in  hue,  his 
pulse  barely  fluttering,  though  his  eyes  were  keener 
than  they  had  been,  as  if  a  sudden  danger  had 
brought  back  his  old  force  and  comprehension. 
Even  the  tone  in  which  he  addressed  her  had  more 
of  its  old-time  quality.  It  was  the  accent  of  com 
mand,  the  voice  he  had  used  as  a  physician  in  the 
sick-room,  though  it  was  faint. 

"Send  for  Hudson,"  he  said.    "We'll  be  needing 
260 


THE   PRECIPICE 

him,  Kate.  The  fight's  on.  Don't  feel  badly  if  we 
fail.  You've  done  your  best." 

It  was  six  hours  before  the  physician  arrived  from 
Milwaukee. 

"I  could  n't  have  looked  for  anything  like  this," 
he  said  to  Kate.  "  I  thought  he  was  safe  —  that  six 
months'  rest  would  see  him  getting  about  again." 

They  had  a  week's  conflict  with  the  last  dread 
enemy  of  man,  and  they  lost.  Dr.  Barrington  was 
quite  as  much  aware  of  the  significance  of  his  steady 
decline  as  any  one.  He  had  practical,  quiet,  en 
couraging  talks  with  his  daughter.  He  sent  for  an 
attorney  and  secured  his  property  to  her.  Once 
more,  as  in  his  brighter  days,  he  talked  of  important 
matters,  though  no  longer  with  his  old  arrogance. 
He  seemed  to  comprehend  at  last,  fully  and  proudly, 
that  she  was  the  inheritor  of  the  best  part  of  him. 
Her  excursive  spirit,  her  inquisitive  mind,  were,  after 
all,  in  spite  of  all  differences,  his  gift  to  her.  He  gave 
her  his  good  wishes  and  begged  her  to  follow  what 
ever  forces  had  been  leading  her.  It  was  as  if,  in  his 
weakness,  he  had  sunk  for  a  period  into  something 
resembling  childhood  and  had  emerged  from  it  into 
a  newer,  nner  manhood. 

"I  kept  abreast  of  things  in  my  profession,"  he 
said,  "but  in  other  matters  I  was  obstinate.  I  liked 
the  old  way  —  a  man  at  the  helm,  and  the  crew 
answering  his  commands.  No  matter  how  big  a  fool 
the  man  was,  I  still  wanted  him  at  the  helm."  He 
smiled  at  her  brightly.  There  was,  indeed,  a  sort 

261 


THE   PRECIPICE 

of  terrible  brilliancy  about  him,  the  result,  perhaps, 
of  heroic  artificial  stimulation.  But  these  false  fires 
soon  burned  themselves  out.  One  beautiful  Sunday 
morning  they  found  him  sinking.  He  himself  in 
formed  his  physician  that  it  was  his  day  of  transi 
tion. 

"I've  only  an  hour  or  two  more,  Hudson,"  he 
whispered  cheerfully.  ' '  Feel  that  pulse ! ' ' 

"Oh,  we  may  manage  to  keep  you  with  us  some 
time  yet,  Dr.  Barrington,"  said  the  other  with  a 
professional  attempt  at  optimism. 

But  the  older  man  shook  his  head. 

"Let's  not  bother  with  the  stock  phrases,"  he 
said.  "Ask  my  daughter  to  come.  I'd  like  to  look 
at  her  till  the  last." 

So  Kate  sat  where  he  could  see  her,  and  they 
coaxed  the  fluttering  heart  to  yet  a  little  further 
effort.  Dr.  Barrington  supervised  everything; 
counted  his  own  pulse;  noted  its  decline  with  his 
accustomed  accuracy. 

The  sunlight  streamed  into  the  room  through  the 
tall  shafts  of  trees ;  outside  the  sighing  of  the  pines 
was  heard,  rising  now  and  then  to  a  noble  requiem. 
It  lifted  Kate's  soul  on  its  deep  harmonies,  and  she 
was  able  to  bear  herself  with  fortitude. 

"It's  been  so  sweet  to  be  with  you,  dear,"  she 
murmured  in  the  ears  which  were  growing  dull  to 
earthly  sounds.  "Say  that  I've  made  up  to  you  a 
little  for  my  willfulness.  I  Ve  always  loved  you  — 
always." 

262 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"I  know,"  he  whispered.  "I  understand  — 
everything  —  now ! " 

In  fact,  his  glance  answered  hers  with  full  com 
prehension. 

"The  beat  is  getting  very  low  now,  Doctor,"  he 
murmured,  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand  on  his  left 
wrist;  "very  infrequent  —  fifteen  minutes  more  — " 

Dr.  Hudson  tried  to  restrain  him  from  his  grim 
task  of  noting  his  own  sinking  vitality,  but  the  old 
physician  waved  him  off. 

"It's  very  interesting,"  he  said.  It  seemed  so, 
indeed.  Suddenly  he  said  quite  clearly  and  in  a 
louder  voice  than  he  had  used  that  day:  "It  has 
stopped.  It  is  the  end!" 

Kate  sprang  to  her  feet  incredulously.  There  was 
a  moment  of  waiting  so  tense  that  the  very  trees 
seemed  to  cease  their  moaning  to  listen.  In  all  the 
room  there  was  no  sound.  The  struggling  breath 
had  ceased.  The  old  physician  had  been  correct  — 
he  had  achieved  the  thing  he  had  set  himself  to  do. 
He  had  announced  his  own  demise. 


XXII 

KATE  had  him  buried  beside  the  wife  for  whom 
he  had  so  inconsistently  longed.  She  sold  the  old 
house,  selected  a  few  keepsakes  from  it,  disposed  of 
all  else,  and  came,  late  in  November,  back  to  the 
city.  Mama's  baby  had  been  born  —  a  little  bright 
boy,  named  for  his  father.  Mrs.  Barsaloux,  relent 
ing,  had  sent  a  layette  of  French  workmanship,  and 
Marna  was  radiantly  happy. 

"If  only  tante  will  come  over  for  Christmas," 
Marna  lilted  to  Kate,  "I  shall  be  almost  too  happy 
to  live.  How  good  she  was  to  me,  and  how  ungrate 
ful  I  seemed  to  her!  Write  her  to  come,  Kate,  ma- 
vourneen.  Tell  her  the  baby  won't  seem  quite  com 
plete  till  she's  kissed  it." 

So  Kate  wrote  Mrs.  Barsaloux,  adding  her  solici 
tation  to  Mama's.  Human  love  and  sympathy  were 
coming  to  seem  to  her  of  more  value  than  anything 
else  in  the  world.  To  be  loved  —  to  be  companioned 
—  to  have  the  vast  loneliness  of  life  mitigated  by 
fealty  and  laughter  and  tenderness  —  what  was 
there  to  take  the  place  of  it? 

*  Her  heart  swelled  with  a  desire  to  lessen  the  pain 
i  of  the  world.  All  her  egotism,  her  self-assertion,  her 
•  formless  ambitions  had  got  up,  or  down,  to  that,  — 
/  to  comfort  the  comfortless,  to  keep  evil  away  from 
\  little  children,  to  let  those  who  were  in  any  sort  of 

264 


THE  PRECIPICE 

fa  prison  go  free.  Yet  she  knew  very  well  that  all  of 
Jthis  would  lack  its  perfect  meaning  unless  there  was 
some  one  to  say  to  her  —  to  her  and  to  none  other: 
*'I  understand." 

Mrs.  Barsaloux  did  not  come  to  America  at 
Christmas  time.  Karl  Wander  did  not  —  as  he  had 
thought  he  might  —  visit  Chicago.  The  holiday 
season  seemed  to  bring  little  to  Kate  except  a  press 
of  duties.  She  aspired  to  go  to  bed  Christmas  night 
with  the  conviction  that  not  a  child  in  her  large  terri 
tory  had  spent  a  neglected  Christmas.  This  meant 
a  skilled  cooperation  with  other  societies,  with  the 
benevolently  inclined  newspapers,  and  with  gener 
ous  patrons.  The  correspondence  involved  was 
necessarily  large,  and  the  amount  of  detail  to  be  at 
tended  to  more  than  she  should  have  undertaken, 
unaided,  but  she  was  spurred  on  by  an  almost  con 
suming  passion  of  pity  and  sisterliness.  That  sen 
sible  detachment  which  had  marked  her  work  at 
the  outset  had  gradually  and  perhaps  regrettably 
disappeared.  So  far  from  having  outgrown  emo 
tional  struggle,  she  seemed  now,  because  of  some 
thing  that  was  taking  place  in  her  inner  life,  to  be 
increasingly  susceptible  to  it. 

Her  father's  death  had  taken  from  her  the  last 
vestige  of  a  home.  She  had  now  no  place  which  she 
could  call  her  own,  or  to  which  she  would  instinc 
tively  turn  at  Christmas  time.  To  be  sure,  there 
were  many  who  bade  her  to  their  firesides,  and  some 

265 


THE  PRECIPICE 

of  these  invitations  she  accepted  with  gratitude 
and  joy.  But  she  could,  of  course,  only  pause  at 
the  hearthstones  of  others.  Her  thoughts  winged 
on  to  other  things  —  to  the  little  poor  homes  where 
her  wistful  children  dwelt,  to  the  great  scheme  for 
their  care  and  oversight  which  daily  came  nearer 
to  realization. 

A  number  of  benevolent  women  —  rich  in  purse 
and  in  a  passion  for  public  service  —  desired  her 
to  lecture.  She  was  to  explain  the  meaning  of  the 
Bureau  of  Children  at  the  state  federations  of 
women's  clubs,  in  lyceum  courses,  and  wherever 
receptive  audiences  could  be  found.  They  advised, 
among  other  things,  her  attendance  at  the  biennial 
meeting  of  the  General  Federation  of  Women's 
Clubs  which  was  meeting  that  coming  spring  in 
Southern  California. 

The  time  had  been  not  so  far  distant  when  she 
would  have  had  difficulty  in  seeing  herself  in  the 
r61e  of  a  public  lecturer,  but  now  that  she  had  some 
thing  imperative  to  say,  she  did  not  see  herself  in 
any  "r61e"  at  all.  She  ceased  to  think  about  herself 
save  as  the  carrier  of  a  message. 

Her  Christmas  letter  from  Wander  was  at  once 
a  disappointment  and  a  shock. 

"I've  made  a  mess  of  things,"  he  wrote,  "and 
do  not  intend  to  intrude  on  you  until  I  have 
shown  myself  more  worthy  of  consideration.  I  try 
to  tell  myself  that  my  present  fiasco  is  not  my  fault, 

266 


THE   PRECIPICE 

but  I've  more  than  a  suspicion  that  I'm  playing 
the  coward's  part  when  I  think  that.  You  can  be 
disappointed  in  me  if  you  like.  I  'm  outrageously 
disappointed.  I  thought  I  was  made  of  better  stuff. 
"I  don't  know  when  I'll  have  time  for  writing 
again,  for  I  shall  be  very  busy.  I  suppose  I  '11  think 
about  you  more  than  is  good  for  me.  But  maybe  not. 
Maybe  the  thoughts  of  you  will  be  crowded  out.  I  'm 
rather  curious  to  see.  It  would  be  better  for  me  if 
they  would,  for  I  've  come  to  a  bad  turn  in  the  road, 
and  when  I  get  around  it,  maybe  all  of  the  old  fa 
miliar  scenes  —  the  window  out  of  which  your  face 
looked,  for  example  —  will  be  lost  to  me.  I  send 
my  good  wishes  to  you  all  the  same.  I  shall  do  that 
as  long  as  I  have  a  brain  and  a  heart. 

"Faithfully, 
"WANDER." 

"That  means  trouble,"  reflected  Kate,  and  had  a 
wild  desire  to  rush  to  his  aid. 

That  she  did  not  was  owing  partly  —  only  partly 
—  to  another  letter  which,  bearing  an  English  post 
mark,  indicated  that  Ray  McCrea,  who  had  been 
abroad  for  a  month  on  business,  was  turning  his  face 
toward  home.  What  he  had  to  say  was  this :  — 

"  DEAREST  KATE  :  - 

"I'm  sending  you  a  warning.  In  a  few  days  I'll 
be  tossing  on  that  black  sea  of  which  I  have,  in  the 

267 


THE  PRECIPICE 

last  few  days,  caught  some  discouraging  glimpses. 
It  does  n't  look  as  if  it  meant  to  let  me  see  the  Statue 
of  Liberty  again,  but  as  surely  as  I  do,  I  'm  going  to 
go  into  council  with  you. 

"  I  imagine  you  know  mighty  well  what  I  'm  going 
to  say.  For  years  you  Ve  kept  me  at  your  call  — or, 
rather,  for  years  I  have  kept  myself  there.  You  Ve 
discouraged  me  often,  in  a  tolerant  fashion,  as  if  you 
thought  me  too  young  to  be  dangerous,  or  yourself 
too  high  up  to  be  called  to  account.  I  Ve  been  pa 
tient,  chiefly  because  I  found  your  society,  as  a  mere 
recipient  of  my  awkward  attentions,  too  satisfactory 
to  be  able  to  run  the  risk  of  foregoing  it.  But  if  I 
were  to  sit  in  the  outer  court  any  longer  I  would  be 
pusillanimous.  I'm  coming  home  to  force  you  to 
make  up  that  strange  mind  of  yours,  which  seems  to 
be  forever  occupying  itself  with  the  thing  far-off  and 
to-be-hoped-for,  rather  than  with  what  is  near  at 
hand. 

"You  '11  have  time  to  think  it  over.  You  can't  say 
I  Ve  been  precipitate. 

"Yours  —  always, 

"RAY." 

At  that  she  flashed  a  letter  to  Colorado. 

"What  is  your  cousin's  trouble?"  she  asked 
Honora.  " Is  it  at  the  mines?" 

"It's  at  the  mines,"  Honora  replied.  " Karl's  life 
has  been  and  is  in  danger.  Friends  have  warned  me 
of  that  again  and  again.  There's  no  holding  these 

268 


THE  PRECIPICE 

people  —  these  several  hundred  Italians  that  poor 
Karl  insisted    upon    regarding   as   his   wards,  his 
4  adopted  children.'  They're  preparing  to  leave  their 
half-paid-for  homes  and  their  steady  work,  and  to  go 
•threshing  off  across  the  country  in  the  wave  of  a 
« hard-drinking,  hysterical  labor  leader.   He  has  them 
'  inflamed  to  the  explosive  point.  When  they  've  done 
Uheir  worst,  Karl  may  be  a  poor  man.    Not  that  he 
worries  about  that;  but  he's  likely  to  carry  down 
with  him  friends  and  business  associates.   Of  course 
this  is  not  final.   He  may  win  out,  but  such  a  catas 
trophe  threatens  him. 

"But  understand,  all  this  is  not  what  is  torment 
ing  him  and  turning  him  gaunt  and  haggard.  No, 
as  usual,  the  last  twist  of  the  knife  is  given  by  a 
woman.  In  this  case  it  is  an  Italian  girl,  Elena  Ci- 
miotti,  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  strikers  and  of  the 
woman  who  does  our  washing  for  us.  She 's  a  beau 
tiful,  wild  creature,  something  as  you  might  suppose 
the  daughter  of  Jorio  to  be.  She  has  come  for  the 
washing  and  has  brought  it  home  again  for  months 
past,  and  Karl,  who  is  thoughtful  of  everybody,  has 
assisted  her  with  her  burden  when  she  was  lifting 
it  from  her  burro's  back  or  packing  it  on  the  little 
beast.  Sometimes  he. would  fetch  her  a  glass  of 
water,  or  give  her  a  cup  of  tea,  or  put  some  fruit  in 
her  saddle-bags.  You  know  what  a  way  he  has  with 
all  women!  I  suppose  it  would  turn  any  foolish 
creature's  head.  And  he  has  such  an  impressive  way 
of  saying  things !  What  would  be  a  casual  speech  on 

269 


THE  PRECIPICE 

the  tongue  of  another  becomes  significant,  when  he 
has  given  one  of  his  original  twists  to  it.  I  think, 
too,  that  in  utter  disregard  of  Italian  etiquette  he 
has  sometimes  walked  on  the  street  with  this  girl 
for  a  few  steps.  He  is  like  a  child  in  some  ways,  — 
as  trusting  and  unconventional,  —  and  he  wants 
to  be  friends  with  everybody.  I  can't  tell  whether 
it  is  because  he  is  such  an  aristocrat  that  it  does  n't 
occur  to  him  that  any  one  can  suspect  him  of  losing 
caste,  or  because  he  is  such  a  democrat  that  he 
does  n't  know  it  exists. 

"However  that  may  be,  the  girl  is  in  love  with 
him.  These  Italian  girls  are  modest  and  well-be 
haved  ordinarily,  but  when  once  their  imagination 
is  aroused  they  are  like  flaming  meteors.  They  have 
no  shame  because  they  can't  see  why  any  one  should 
be  ashamed  of  love  (and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  can't 
either).  But  this  girl  believes  Karl  has  encouraged 
her.  I  suppose  she  honestly  believed  that  he  was 
sweethearting.  He  is  astounded  and  dismayed.  At 
first  both  he  and  I  thought  she  would  get  over  it,  but 
she  has  twice  been  barely  prevented  from  killing 
herself.  Of  course  her  countrymen  think  her  desper 
ately  ill-treated.  She  is  the  handsomest  girl  in  the 
settlement,  and  she  has  a  number  of  ardent  admirers. 
To  the  hatred  which  they  have  come  to  bear  Karl 
as  members  of  a  strike  directed  against  him,  they 
now  add  the  element  of  personal  jealousy. 

"So  you  see  what  kind  of  a  Christmas  we  are 
having!  I  have  had  Mrs.  Hays  take  the  babies  to 

270 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Colorado  Springs,  and  if  anything  happens  to  us 
here,  I'll  trust  to  you  to  see  to  them.  You,  who 
mean  to  look  after  little  children,  look  after  mine 
above  all  others,  for  their  mother  gave  you,  long 
since,  her  loving  friendship.  I  would  rather  have 
you  mother  my  babies,  maiden  though  you  are,  than 
any  woman  I  know,  for  I  feel  a  great  force  in  you, 
Kate,  and  believe  you  are  going  on  until  you  get  an 
answer  to  some  of  the  questions  which  the  rest  of 
us  have  found  unanswerable. 

"  Karl  wants  me  to  leave,  for  there  is  danger  that 
the  ranch  house  may  be  blown  up  almost  any  time. 
These  men  play  with  dynamite  as  if  it  were  wood, 
anyway,  and  they  make  fiery  enemies.  Every  act 
of  ours  is  spied  upon.  Our  servants  have  left  us, 
and  Karl  and  I,  obstinate  as  mules  and  as  proud  as 
sheiks,  after  the  fashion  of  our  family,  hold  the  fort. 
He  wants  me  to  go,  but  I  tell  him  I  am  more  inter 
ested  in  life  than  I  ever  dared  hope  I  would  be  again. 
I  have  been  bayoneted  into  a  fighting  mood,  and  I 
find  it  magnificent  to  really  feel  alive  again,  after 
crawling  in  the  dust  so  long,  with  the  taste  of  it  in 
my  mouth.  So  don't  pity  me.  As  for  Karl  —  he 
looks  wild  and  strange,  like  the  Flying  Dutchman 
with  his  spectral  hand  on  the  helm.  But  I  don't 
know  that  I  want  you  to  pity  him  either.  He  is  a 
curious  man,  with  a  passionate  soul,  and  if  he  flares 
out  like  a  torch  in  the  wind,  it  will  be  fitting  enough. 
No,  don't  pity  us.  Congratulate  us  rather." 


271 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"  Now  what,"  said  Kate  aloud,  "may  that  mean?  " 

1 '  Congratulate  us ! " 

The  letter  had  a  note  of  reckless  gayety.  Had 
Honora  and  Karl,  though  cousins,  been  finding  a 
shining  compensation  there  in  the  midst  of  many 
troubles?  It  sounded  so,  indeed.  Elena  Cimiotti 
might  swing  down  the  mountain  roads  wearing 
mountain  flowers  in  her  hair  if  she  pleased,  and  Kate 
would  not  have  thought  her  dangerous  to  the  peace 
of  Karl  Wander.  If  the  wind  were  wild  and  the 
leaves  driving,  he  might  have  kissed  her  in  some  mad 
mood.  So  much  might  be  granted  —  and  none,  not 
even  Elena,  be  the  worse  for  it.  But  to  live  side  by 
side  with  Honora  Fulham,  to  face  danger  with  her, 
to  have  the  exhilaration  of  conflict,  they  two  to 
gether,  the  mountains  above  them,  the  treacherous 
foe  below,  a  fortune  lost  or  gained  in  a  day,  all  the 
elements  of  Colorado's  gambling  chances  of  life  and 
fortune  at  hand,  might  mean  —  anything. 

Well,  she  would  congratulate  them!  If  Honora 
could  forget  a  shattered  heart  so  soon,  if  Wander 
could  take  it  on  such  easy  terms,  they  were  entitled 
to  congratulations  of  a  sort.  And  if  they  were  killed 
some  frantic  night, — were  blown  to  pieces  with  their 
ruined  home,  and  so  reached  together  whatever  lies 
beyond  this  life,  —  why,  then,  they  were  to  be  con 
gratulated,  indeed !  Or  if  they  evaded  their  enemies 
and  swung  their  endangered  craft  into  the  smooth 
stream  of  life,  still  congratulations  were  to  be  theirs. 

She  confessed  to  herself  that  she  would  rather  be 
272 


THE  PRECIPICE 

in  that  lonely  beleaguered  house  facing  death  with 
Karl  Wander  than  be  the  recipient  of  the  greatest 
honor  or  the  participant  in  the  utmost  gayety  that 
life  could  offer. 

That  the  fact  was  fantastic  made  it  none  the  less 
a  fact. 

Should  she  write  to  Honora : "  I  congratulate  you?" 

Or  should  she  wire  Karl? 

She  got  out  his  letters,  and  his  words  were  as  a 
fresh  wind  blowing  over  her  spirit.  She  realized 
afresh  how  this  man,  seen  but  once,  known  only 
through  the  medium  of  infrequent  letters,  had  in 
vigorated  her.  What  had  he  not  taught  her  of  com 
passion,  of  "  the  glory  of  the  commonplace,"  of 
duty  eagerly  fulfilled,  of  the  abounding  joy  of  life 
—  even  in  life  shadowed  by  care  or  sickness  or 
poverty? 

No,  she  would  write  them  nothing.  They  were 
her  friends  in  fullness  of  sympathy.  They,  like  her 
self,  were  of  those  to  whom  each  day  and  night  is  a 
privilege,  to  whom  sorrow  is  an  enrichment,  delight 
an  unfoldment,  opposition  a  spur.  They  were  of  the 
company  of  those  who  dared  to  speak  the  truth,  who 
breathed  deep,  who  partook  of  the  banquet  of  life 
without  fear. 

She  had  seen  Honora  in  the  worst  hour  of  tribula 
tion  that  can  come  to  a  good  woman,  and  she  knew 
she  had  arisen  from  her  overthrow,  stronger  for  the 
trial ;  now  Karl  was  battling,  and  he  had  cried  out  to 

273 


THE  PRECIPICE 

her  in  his  pain  —  his  shame  of  defeat.  But  it  would 
not  be  his  extinction.  She  was  sure  of  that.  They 
might,  among  them,  slay  his  body,  but  she  could  not 
read  his  letters,  so  full  of  valiant  contrasts,  and  doubt 
that  his  spirit  must  withstand  all  adversaries. 

No,  sardonic  with  these  two  she  could  never  be. 
Like  that  poor  Elena,  she  might  have  mistaken 
Wander's  meanings.  He  was  a  man  of  too  elaborate 
gestures ;  something  grandiose,  inherently  his,  made 
him  enact  the  drama  of  life  with  too  much  fervor. 
It  was  easy,  Honora  had  insinuated,  for  a  woman 
to  mistake  him! 

Kate  gripped  her  two  strong  hands  together  and 
clasped  them  about  her  head  in  the  first  attitude  of 
despair  in  which  she  ever  had  indulged  in  her  life. 
She  was  ashamed!  Honora  had  said  there  was  no 
thing  to  be  ashamed  of  in  love.  But  Kate  would  not 
call  this  meeting  of  her  spirit  with  Karl's  by  that 
name.  She  had  no  idea  whether  it  was  love  or  not. 
On  the  whole,  she  preferred  to  think  that  it  was 
not.  But  when  they  faced  each  other,  their  glances 
had  met.  When  they  had  parted,  their  thoughts  had 
bridged  the  space.  When  she  dreamed,  she  fancied 
that  she  was  mounting  great  solitary  peaks  with  him 
to  look  at  sunsets  that  blazed  like  the  end  of  the 
world;  or  that  he  and  she  were  strong- winged  birds 
seeking  the  crags  of  the  Andes.  What  girl's  folly! 
The  time  had  come  to  put  such  vagrant  dreams  from 
her  and  to  become  a  woman,  indeed. 

Ray  telephoned  that  he  was  home. 
274 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"Come  up  this  evening,  then,"  commanded  Kate. 

Then,  not  being  as  courageous  as  her  word,  she 
wept  brokenly  for  her  mother  —  the  mother  who 
could,  at  best,  have  given  her  but  such  indetermin 
ate  advice. 


XXIII 

As  she  heard  Ray  coming  up  the  stairs,  she  tossed 
some  more  wood  on  the  fire  and  lighted  the  candles 
in  her  Russian  candlesticks. 

"It's  what  any  silly  girl  would  do! "  she  admitted 
to  herself  disgustedly. 

Well,  there  was  his  rap  on  the  foolish  imitation 
Warwick  knocker.  Kate  flung  wide  the  door.  He 
stood  in  the  dim  light  of  the  hall,  hesitating,  it  would 
seem,  to  enter  upon  the  evening's  drama.  Tall, 
graceful  as  always,  with  a  magnetic  force  behind 
his  languor,  he  impressed  Kate  as  a  man  whom  few 
women  would  be  able  to  resist;  whom,  indeed,  it  was 
a  sort  of  folly,  perhaps  even  an  impiety,  to  cast  out 
of  one's  life. 

"Kate!"  he  said,  "Kate!"  The  whole  challenge 
of  love  was  in  the  accent. 

But  she  held  him  off  with  the  first  method  of  op 
position  she  could  devise. 

"My  name!"  she  admitted  gayly.  "I  used  to 
think  I  did  n't  like  it,  but  I  do." 

He  came  in  and  swung  to  the  door  behind  him, 
flinging  his  coat  and  hat  upon  a  chair. 

"Do  you  mean  you  like  to  hear  me  say  it?"  he 
demanded.  He  stood  by  the  fire  which  had  begun  to 
leap  and  crackle,  drawing  off  his  gloves  with  a  de 
cisive  gesture. 

276 


THE  PRECIPICE 

She  saw  that  she  was  not  going  to  be  able  to  put 
him  off.  The  hour  had  struck.  So  she  faced  him 
bravely. 

"Sit  down,  Ray,"  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  as  if  measuring  the 
value  of  this  courtesy. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  almost  resentfully,  as  he 
sank  into  the  chair  she  placed  for  him. 

So  they  sat  together  before  the  fire  gravely,  like 
old  married  people,  as  Kate  could  not  help  notic 
ing.  Yet  they  were  combatants;  not  as  a  married 
couple  might  have  been,  furtively  and  miserably, 
but  with  a  frank,  almost  an  exhilarating,  sense  of 
equally  matched  strength,  and  of  their  chance  to 
conduct  their  struggle  in  the  open. 

"It's  come  to  this,  Kate,"  he  said  at  length. 
"Either  I  fnust  have  your  promise  or  I  stay  away 
entirely." 

"I  don't  believe  you  need  to  do  either,"  she  re 
torted  with  the  exasperating  manner  of  an  elder 
sister.  "It's  an  obsession  with  you,  that's  all." 

"What  man  thinks  he  needs,  he  does  need,"  Ray 
responded  sententiously.  "It  appears  to  me  that 
without  you  I  shall  be  a  lost  man.  I  mean  precisely 
what  I  say.  You  would  n't  like  me  to  give  out  that 
fact  in  an  hysterical  manner,  and  I  don't  see  that  I 
need  to.  I  make  the  statement  as  I  would  make  any 
other,  and  I  expect  to  be  believed,  because  I'm  a 
truth- telling  person.  The  fairest  scene  in  the  world 
or  the  most  interesting  circumstance  becomes  mean- 

277 


THE  PRECIPICE 

ingless  to  me  if  you  are  not  included  in  it.  It  is  n't 
alone  that  you  are  my  sweetheart  —  the  lady  of  my 
dreams.  It's  much  more  than  that.  Sometimes 
when  I  'm  with  you  I  feel  like  a  boy  with  his  mother, 
safe  from  all  the  dreadful  things  that  might  happen 
to  a  child.  Sometimes  you  seem  like  a  sister,  so 
really  kind  and  so  outwardly  provoking.  Often  you 
are  my  comrade,  and  we  are  completely  congenial, 
neuter  entities.  The  thing  is  we  have  a  satisfaction 
when  we  are  together  that  we  never  could  apart. 
There  it  is,  Kate,  the  fact  we  can't  get  around. 
We're  happier  together  than  we  are  apart!" 

He  seemed  to  hold  the  theory  up  in  the  air  as  if  it 
were  a  shining  jewel,  and  to  expect  her  to  look  at 
it  till  it  dazzled  her.  But  her  voice  was  dull  as  she 
said :  "  I  know,  Ray.  I  know  —  now  —  but  shall  we 
stay  so?"  • 

"Why  shouldn't  we,  woman?  There's  every 
reason  to  suppose  that  we  'd  grow  happier.  We  want 
each  other.  More  than  that,  we  need  each  other. 
With  me,  it 's  such  a  deep  need  that  it  reaches  to  the 
very  roots  of  my  being.  It's  my  groundwork,  my 
foundation  stone.  I  don't  know  how  to  put  it  to 
make  you  realize  — " 

He  caught  a  quizzical  smile  on  her  face,  and  after 
a  moment  of  bewilderment  he  leaped  from  his  chair 
and  came  toward  her. 

"God!"  he  half  breathed,  "why  do  I  waste  time 
talking?" 

He  had  done  what  her  look  challenged  him  to  do, 
278 


THE  PRECIPICE 

—  had  substituted  action  for  words,  —  yet  now,  as 
he  stretched  out  his  arms  to  her,  she  held  him  off, 
fearful  that  she  would  find  herself  weeping  on  his 
breast.  It  would  be  sweet  to  do  it  —  like  getting 
home  after  a  long  voyage.  But  dizzily,  with  a  stark 
j  clinging  to  a  rock  of  integrity  in  herself,  she  fought 
him  off,  more  with  her  militant  spirit  than  with  her 
outspread,  protesting  hands. 

11  No,  no,"  she  cried.  "  Don't  hypnotize  me,  Ray! 
Leave  me  my  judgment,  leave  me  my  reason.  If 
it's  a  partnership  we're  to  enter  into,  I  ought  to 
know  the  terms." 

"The  terms,  Kate?  Why,  I  '11  love  you  as  long  as 
I  live ;  I  '11  treasure  you  as  the  most  precious  thing 
in  all  the  world." 

"And  the  winds  of  heaven  shall  not  be  allowed  to 
visit  my  cheek  too  roughly,"  she  managed  to  say 
tantalizingly. 

He  paused,  perplexed. 

"I  know  I  bewilder  you,  dear  man,"  she  said. 

f "  But  this  is  the  point:  I  don't  want  to  be  protected. 

'  I  mean  I  don't  want  to  be  made  dependent;  I  don't 

i  want  my  interpretations  of  life  at  second-hand.    I 

object  to  having  life  filter  through  anybody  else  to 

me;  I  want  it,  you  see,  on  my  own  account." 

"Why,  Kate!"  It  wasn't  precisely  a  protest.  He 
seemed  rather  to  reproach  her  for  hindering  the  on 
ward  sweep  of  their  happiness  —  for  opposing  him 
with  her  ideas  when  they  might  together  have  at 
tained  a  beautiful  emotional  climax. 

279 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"  I  could  n't  stand  it,"  she  went  on,  lifting  her  eyes 
to  his,  "to  be  given  permission  to  do  this,  that,  or 
the  other  thing;  or  to  be  put  on  an  allowance;  or 
made  to  ask  a  favor  — " 

He  sank  down  in  his  chair  and  folded  across 
his  breast  the  arms  whose  embrace  she  had  not 
claimed. 

"You  seem  to  mean,"  he  said,  "that  you  don't 
want  to  be  a  wife.  You  prefer  your  independence 
to  love." 

"I  want  both,"  Kate  declared,  rising  and  stand 
ing  before  him.  "I  want  the  most  glorious  and 
abounding  love  woman  ever  had.  I  want  so  much  of 
it  that  it  never  could  be  computed  or  measured  — 
so  much  it  will  lift  me  up  above  anything  that  I 
now  am  or  that  I  know,  and  make  me  stronger  and 
freer  and  braver." 

"Well,  that's  what  your  love  would  do  for  me," 
broke  in  McCrea.  "That's  what  the  love  of  a  good 
woman  is  expected  to  do  for  a  man." 

"Of  course,"  cried  Kate;  "but  is  that  what  the 
love  of  a  good  man  is  expected  to  do  for  a  woman? 
Or  is  it  expected  to  reconcile  her  to  obscurity,  to  the 
dimming  of  her  personality,  and  to  the  endless  petty 
sacrifices  that  ought  to  shame  her  —  and  don't  — 
those  immoral  sacrifices  about  which  she  has  con 
trived  to  throw  so  many  deceiving,  iridescent  mists 
of  religion?  Oh,  yes,  we  are  hypnotized  into  our 
foolish  state  of  dependence  easily  enough!  I  know 
that.  The  mating  instinct  drugs  us.  I  suppose  the 

280 


THE  PRECIPICE 

unborn  generations  reach  out  their  shadowy  mul 
titudinous  hands  and  drag  us  to  our  destiny!" 

"What  a  woman  you  are!  How  you  put  things!" 
He  tried  but  failed  to  keep  the  offended  look  from 
his  face,  and  Kate  knew  perfectly  well  how  hard  he 
was  striving  not  to  think  her  indelicate.  But  she 
went  on  regardlessly. 

"You  think  that's  the  very  thing  I  ought  to  want 
to  be  my  destiny?  Well,  perhaps  I  do.  I  want  chil 
dren  —  of  course,  I  want  them." 

She  stopped  for  a  moment  because  she  saw  him 
flushing  with  embarrassment.  Yet  she  could  n't 
apologize,  and,  anyway,  an  apology  would  avail  no 
thing.  If  he  thought  her  unwomanly  because  she 
talked  about  her  woman's  life,  —  the  very  life  to 
which  he  was  inviting  her,  —  nothing  she  could  say 
would  change  his  mind.  It  was  n't  a  case  for  argu 
ment.  She  walked  over  to  the  fire  and  warmed  her 
nervous  hands  at  it. 

"I'm  sorry,  Ray,"  she  said  finally. 

"Sorry?" 

_  "Sorry  that  I'm  not  the  tender,  trusting,  maiden- 
creature  who  could  fall  trembling  in  your  arms  and 
love  you  forever,  no  matter  what  you  did,  and  lie 
to  you  and  for  you  the  way  good  wives  do.  But 
I  'm  not  —  and,  oh,  I  wish  I  were  —  or  else  — " 

"Yes,  Kate  — what?" 

"Or  else  that  you  were  the  kind  of  a  man  I  need, 
the  mate  I'm  looking  for!" 

"But,  Kate,  I  protest  that  I  am.    I   love   you. 
281 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Is  n't  that  enough?  I  'm  not  worthy  of  you,  maybe. 
Yet  if  trying  to  earn  you  by  being  loyal  makes  me 
worthy,  then  I  am.  Don't  say  no  to  me,  Kate.  It 
will  shatter  me — like  an  earthquake.  And  I  be 
lieve  you  '11  regret  it,  too.  We  can  make  each  other 
happy.  I  feel  it!  I'd  stake  my  life  on  it.  Wait  — " 

He  arose  and  paced  the  floor  back  and  forth. 

"Do  you  remember  the  lines  from  Tennyson's 
'Princess'  where  the  Prince  pleads  with  Ida?  I 
thought  I  could  repeat  them,  but  I  'm  afraid  I  '11  mar 
them.  I  don't  want  to  do  that;  they're  too  applica- 
cable  to  my  case." 

He  knew  where  she  kept  her  Tennyson,  and  he 
found  the  volume  and  the  page,  and  when  he  had 
handed  the  book  to  her,  he  snatched  his  coat  and 
hat. 

"I'm  coming  for  my  answer  a  week  from  to 
night,"  he  said.  "For  God's  sake,  girl,  don't  make 
a  mistake.  Life 's  so  short  that  it  ought  to  be  happy. 
At  best  I  '11  only  be  able  to  live  with  you  a  few  de 
cades,  and  I'd  like  it  to  be  centuries." 

He  had  not  meant  to  do  it,  she  could  see,  but  sud 
denly  he  came  to  her,  and  leaning  above  her  burned 
his  kisses  upon  her  eyes.  Then  he  flung  himself  out 
of  the  room,  and  by  the  light  of  her  guttering  candles 
she  read :  — 

"  Come  down,  O  maid,  from  yonder  mountain  height. 
What  pleasure  lives  in  height  (the  shepherd  sang). 
In  height  and  cold,  the  splendor  of  the  hills? 
But  cease  to  move  so  near  the  Heavens,  and  cease 
To  glide  a  sunbeam  by  the  blasted  pine, 
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THE   PRECIPICE 

To  sit  a  star  upon  the  sparkling  spire ; 

And  come,  for  Love  is  of  the  valley,  come  thou  down 

And  find  him ;  by  the  happy  threshold,  he 

Or  hand  in  hand  with  Plenty  in  the  maize, 

Or  red  with  vspirted  purple  of  the  vats, 

Or  foxlike  in  the  vine;  nor  cares  to  walk 

With  Death  and  Morning  on  the  Silver  Horns, 

Nor  wilt  thou  snare  him  in  the  white  ravine, 

Nor  find  him  dropped  upon  the  firths  of  ice, 

That  huddling  slant  in  furrow-cloven  falls 

To  roll  the  torrent  out  of  dusky  doors ; 

But  follow;  let  the  torrent  dance  thee  down 

To  find  him  in  the  valley,  let  the  wild 

Lean-headed  eagles  yelp  alone,  and  leave 

The  monstrous  ledges  there  to  slope,  and  spill 

Their  thousand  wreaths  of  dangling  water-smoke, 

That  like  a  broken  purpose  waste  in  air; 

So  waste  not  thou ;  but  come ;  for  all  the  vales 

Await  thee ;  azure  pillars  of  the  hearth 

Arise  to  thee;  the  children  call,  and  I 

Thy  shepherd  pipe,  and  sweet  is  every  sound, 

Sweeter  thy  voice,  but  every  sound  is  sweet; 

Myriads  of  rivulets  hurrying  thro*  the  lawn, 

The  moan  of  doves  in  immemorial  elms, 

And  murmuring  of  innumerable  bees." 

She  read  it  twice,  soothed  by  its  vague  loveliness. 
She  could  hear,  however,  only  the  sound  of  the  sub 
urban  trains  crashing  by  in  the  distance,  and  the 
honking  of  the  machines  in  the  Plaisance.  None  of 
those  spirit  sounds  of  which  Ray  had  dreamed  pene 
trated  through  her  vigorous  materialism.  But  still, 
she  knew  that  she  was  lonely ;  she  knew  Ray's  going 
left  a  gray  vacancy. 

"  I  can't  think  it  out,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I  '11  go  to 
sleep.  Perhaps  there — " 

283 


THE   PRECIPICE 

But  neither  voices  nor  visions  came  to  her  in  sleep. 
She  awoke  the  next  morning  as  unillumined  as  when 
she  went  to  her  bed.  And  as  she  dressed  and  thought 
of  the  full  day  before  her,  she  was  indefinably  glad 
that  she  was  under  no  obligations  to  consult  any 
one  about  her  programme,  either  of  work  or  play. 


XXIV 

KATE  had  dreaded  the  expected  solitude  of  the 
next  night,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  her  when  Marna 
Fitzgerald  telephoned  that  she  had  been  sent  opera- 
tickets  by  one  of  her  old  friends  in  the  opera  com 
pany,  and  that  she  wanted  Kate  to  go  with  her. 

"George  offers  to  stay  home  with  the  baby,"  she 
said.  "So  come  over,  dear,  and  have  dinner  with  us; 
that  will  give  you  a  chance  to  see  George.  Then  you 
and  I  will  go  to  the  opera  by  our  two  independent 
selves.  I  know  you  don't  mind  going  home  alone. 
'Butterfly*  is  on,  you  know  —  Farrar  sings." 

She  said  it  without  faltering,  Kate  noticed,  as  she 
gave  her  enthusiastic  acceptance,  and  when  she  had 
put  down  the  telephone,  she  actually  clapped  her 
hands  at  the  fortitude  of  the  little  woman  she  had 
once  thought  such  a  hummingbird  —  and  a  hum 
mingbird  with  that  one  last  added  glory,  a  voice. 
Marna  had  been  able  to  put  her  dreams  behind  her; 
why  should  not  her  example  be  cheerfully  followed? 

When  Kate  reached  the  little  apartment  looking 
on  Garneld  Park,  she  entered  an  atmosphere  in 
which,  as  she  had  long  since  proved,  there  appeared 
to  be  no  room  for  regret.  Marna  had,  of  course, 
prepared  the  dinner  with  her  own  hands. 

"  I  whipped  up  some  mayonnaise,"  she  said.  "You 
remember  how  Schumann-Heink  used  to  like  my 

285 


THE   PRECIPICE 

mayonnaise?  And  she  knows  good  cooking  when 
she  tastes  it,  doesn't  she?  I've  trifle  for  desert, 
too." 

"  But  it  must  have  taken  you  all  day,  dear,  to  get 
up  a  dinner  like  that,"  protested  Kate,  kissing  the 
flushed  face  of  her  friend. 

"  It  took  up  the  intervals,"  smiled  Marna.  "You 
see,  my  days  are  made  up  of  taking  care  of  baby,  and 
of  intervals.  How  fetching  that  black  velvet  bodice 
is,  Kate.  I  did  n't  know  you  had  a  low  one." 

' '  Low  and  high, ' '  said  Kate.  ' '  That 's  the  way  we 
fool  'em  —  make  'em  think  we  have  a  wardrobe. 
Me  —  I'm  glad  I 'm  going  to  the  opera.  How  good 
of  you  to  think  of  me !  So  few  do  —  at  least  in  the 
way  I  want  them  to." 

Marna  threw  her  a  quick  glance. 

"Ray?"  she  asked  with  a  world  of  insinuation. 

To  Kate's  disgust,  her  eyes  flushed  with  hot  tears. 

' '  He 's  waiting  to  know, ' '  she  answered.  ' '  But  I  — 
I  don't  think  I'm  going  to  be  able  — " 

"Oh,  Kate!"  cried  Marna  in  despair.  "How  can 
you  feel  that  way?  Just  think  —  just  think — " 
she  did  n't  finish  her  sentence. 

Instead,  she  seized  little  George  and  began  un 
dressing  him,  her  hands  lingering  over  the  firm 
roundness  of  his  body.  He  seemed  to  be  anything 
but  sleepy,  and  when  his  mother  passed  him  over 
to  her  guest,  Kate  let  him  clutch  her  fingers  with 
those  tenacious  little  hands  which  looked  like  rose- 
leaves  and  clung  like  briers.  Marna  went  out  of  the 

286 


THE   PRECIPICE 

room  to  prepare  his  bedtime  bottle,  and  Kate  took 
advantage  of  being  alone  with  him  to  experiment  in 
those  joys  which  his  mother  had  with  difficulty  re 
frained  from  descanting  upon.  She  kissed  him  in  the 
back  of  the  neck,  and  again  where  his  golden  curls 
met  his  brow  —  a  brow  the  color  of  a  rose  crystal. 
A  delicious,  indescribable  baby  odor  came  up  from 
him,  composed  of  perfumed  breath,  of  clean  flannels, 
and  of  general  adorability.  Suddenly,  not  knowing 
she  was  going  to  do  it,  Kate  snatched  him  to  her 
breast,  and  held  him  strained  to  her  while  he  nestled 
there,  eager  and  completely  happy,  and  over  the 
woman  who  could  not  make  up  her  mind  about  life 
and  her  part  in  it,  there  swept,  in  wave  after  wave, 
like  the  south  wind  blowing  over  the  bleak  hills, 
billows  of  warm  emotion.  Her  very  finger-tips  tin 
gled;  soft,  wistful,  delightful  tears  flooded  her  eyes. 
Her  bosom  seemed  to  lift  as  the  tide  lifts  to  the  moon. 
She  found  herself  murmuring  inarticulate,  melodi- 
ous  nothings.  It  was  a  moment  of  realization.  She 
was  learning  what  joys  could  be  hers  if  only  — 

Marna  came  back  into  the  room  and  took  the 
baby  from  Kate 's  trembling  hands. 

"Why,  dear,  you're  not  afraid  of  him,  are  you?" 
his  mother  asked  reproachfully. 

Kate  made  no  answer,  but,  dropping  a  farewell 
kiss  in  the  crinkly  palm  of  one  dimpled  hand,  she 
went  out  to  the  kitchen,  found  an  apron,  and  began 
drawing  the  water  for  dinner  and  dropping  Mania's 
mayonnaise  on  the  salad.  She  must,  however,  have 

287 


THE  PRECIPICE 

been  sitting  for  several  minutes  in  the  baby's  high 
chair,  staring  unseeingly  at  the  wall,  when  the  buz 
zing  of  the  indicator  brought  her  to  her  feet. 

"It's  George!"  cried  Marna;  and  tossing  baby 
and  bottle  into  the  cradle,  she  ran  to  the  door. 

Kate  hit  the  kitchen  table  sharply  with  a  clenched 
hand.  What  was  there  in  the  return  of  a  perfectly 
ordinary  man  to  his  home  that  should  cause  such 
excitement  in  a  creature  of  flame  and  dew  like 
Marna? 

"  Marna  with  the  trees'  life 

In  her  veins  a-stir ! 
Marna  of  the  aspen  heart  — " 

George  came  into  the  kitchen  with  both  hands 
outstretched. 

"Well,  it's  good  to  see  you  here,"  he  declared. 
"Why  don't  you  come  oftener?  You  make  Marna 
so  happy." 

That  proved  her  worthy;  she  made  Marna  happy! 
Of  what  greater  use  could  any  person  be  in  this 
world?  George  retired  to  prepare  for  dinner,  and 
Marna  to  settle  the  baby  for  the  night,  and  Kate 
went  on  with  the  preparations  for  the  meal,  while 
her  thoughts  revolved  like  a  Catherine  wheel. 

There  were  the  chops  yet  to  cook,  for  George  liked 
them  blazing  from  the  broiler,  and  there  was  the 
black  coffee  to  set  over.  This  latter  was  to  fortify 
George  at  his  post,  for  it  was  agreed  that  he  was  not 
to  sleep  lest  he  should  fail  to  awaken  at  the  need  and 
demand  of  the  beloved  potentate  in  the  cradle ;  and 

288 


THE   PRECIPICE 

Marna  now  needed  a  little  stimulant  if  she  was  to 
keep  comfortably  awake  during  a  long  evening  — 
she  who  used  to  light  the  little  lamps  in  the  windows 
of  her  mind  sometime  after  midnight. 

They  had  one  of  those  exclamatory  dinners  where 
every  one  talked  about  the  incomparable  quality  of 
the  cooking.  The  potatoes  were  after  a  new  recipe,  — 
something  Spanish,  —  and  they  tasted  deliciously 
and  smelled  as  if  assailing  an  Andalusian  heaven. 
The  salad  was  piquante;  the  trifle  vivacious;  Kate's 
bonbons  were  regarded  as  unique,  and  as  for  the 
coffee,  it  provoked  Marna  to  quote  the  appreciative 
Talleyrand :  — 

"  Noir  comme  le  diable, 
Chaud  comme  1'enfer, 
Pur  comme  un  ange, 
Doux  comme  1'amour." 

Other  folk  might  think  that  Marna  had  "dropped 
out,"  but  Kate  could  see  it  written  across  the  hea 
vens  in  letters  of  fire  that  neither  George  nor  Marna 
thought  so.  They  regarded  their  table  as  witty,  as 
blessed  in  such  a  guest  as  Kate,  as  abounding  in 
desirable  food,  as  being,  indeed,  all  that  a  dinner- 
table  should  be.  They  had  the  effect  of  shutting  out 
a  world  which  clamored  to  participate  in  their  plea 
sures,  and  looked  on  themselves  as  being  not  for 
gotten,  but  too  selfish  in  keeping  to  themselves. 
It  kept  little  streams  of  mirth  purling  through  Kate's 
soul,  and  at  each  jest  or  supposed  brilliancy  she 
laughed  twice  —  once  with  them  and  once  at  them. 

289 


THE   PRECIPICE 

But  they"  were  unsuspicious  —  her  friends.    They 
were  secretly  sorry  for  her,  that  was  all. 

After  dinner  there  was  Marna  to  dress. 

"Naturally  I  have  n't  thought  much  about  even 
ing  clothes  since  I  was  married,"  she  said  to  Kate. 
"I  don't  see  what  I'm  to  put  on  unless  it's  my  im 
memorial  gold-of-ophir  satin."  She  looked  rather 
dubious,  and  Kate  could  n't  help  wondering  why 
she  had  n't  made  a  decision  before  this.  Marna 
caught  the  expression  in  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  I  ought  to  have  seen  to  things, 
but  you  don't  know  what  it  is,  mavourneen,  to  do 
all  your  own  work  and  care  for  a  baby.  It  makes 
everything  you  do  so  staccato!  And,  oh,  Kate,  I 
do  get  so  tired !  My  feet  ache  as  if  they  'd  come  off, 
and  sometimes  my  back  aches  so  I  just  lie  on  the 
floor  and  roll  and  groan.  Of  course,  George  does  n't 
know.  He'd  insist  on  our  having  a  servant,  and  we 
can't  begin  to  afford  that.  It  is  n't  the  wages  alone; 
it's  the  waste  and  breakage  and  all." 

She  said  this  solemnly,  and  Kate  could  not  con 
ceal  a  smile  at  her  "daughter  of  the  air"  using  these 
time-worn  domestic  plaints. 

"You  ought  to  lie  down  and  sleep  every  day, 
Marna.  Would  n't  that  help?" 

"That 's  what  George  is  always  saying.  He  thinks 
I  ought  to  sleep  while  the  baby  is  taking  his  nap. 
But,  mercy  me,  I  just  look  forward  to  that  time  to 
get  my  work  done." 

She  turned  her  eager,  weary  face  toward  Kate, 
290 


'THE   PRECIPICE 

and  her  friend  marked  the  delicacy  in  it  which  comes 
with  maternity.  It  was  pallid  and  rather  pinched; 
the  lips  hung  a  trifle  too  loosely;  the  veins  at  the 
temples  showed  blue  and  full.  Kate  could  n't  beat 
down  the  vision  that  would  rise  before  her  eyes  of 
the  Marna  she  had  known  in  the  old  days,  who  had 
arisen  at  noon,  coming  forth  from  her  chamber  like 
Deirdre,  fresh  with  the  freshness  of  pagan  delight. 
She  remembered  the  crowd  that  had  followed  in  her 
train,  the  manner  in  which  people  had  looked  after 
her  on  the  street,  and  the  little  furore  she  had  invar 
iably  awakened  when  she  entered  a  shop  or  tea 
room.  As  Marna  shook  out  the  gold-of-ophir  satin, 
dimmed  now  and  definitely  out  of  date,  there  surged 
up  in  her  friend  a  rebellion  against  Mama's  complete 
acquiescence  in  the  present  scheme  of  things.  But 
Marna  slipped  cheerfully  into  her  gown. 

"  I  shall  keep  my  cloak  on  while  we  go  down  the 
aisle,"  she  declared.  "  Nobody  notices  what  one  has 
on  when  one  is  safely  seated.  Particularly,"  she 
added,  with  one  of  her  old-time  flashes,  "if  one's 
neck  is  not  half  bad.  Now  I  'm  ready  to  be  fastened, 
mavourneen.  Dear  me,  it  is  rather  tight,  is  n't  it? 
But  never  mind  that.  Get  the  hooks  together  some 
how.  I  '11  hold  my  breath.  Now,  see,  with  this  scarf 
about  me,  I  shan't  look  such  a  terrible  dowd,  shall 
I  ?  Only  my  gloves  are  unmistakably  shabby  and 
not  any  too  clean,  either.  George  won't  let  me  use 
gasoline,  you  know,  and  it  takes  both  money  and 
thought  to  get  them  to  the  cleaners.  Do  you  remem- 

291 


THE   PRECIPICE 

her  the  boxes  of  long  white  gloves  I  used  to  have  in 
the  days  when  tante  Barsaloux  was  my  fairy  god 
mother?  Gloves  were  an  immaterial  incident  then. 
'Nevermore,  nevermore,'  as  our  friend  the  raven 
remarked.  Come,  we'll  go.  I  won't  wear  my  old 
opera  cloak  in  the  street-car;  that  would  be  too 
absurd,  especially  now  that  the  bullion  on  it  has  tar 
nished.  That  long  black  coat  of  mine  is  just  the 
thing  —  equally  appropriate  for  market,  mass,  or 
levee.  Oh,  George,  dear,  good-bye!  Good-bye,  you 
sweetheart.  I  hate  to  leave  you,  truly  I  do.  And 
I  do  hope  and  pray  the  baby  won't  wake.  If  he 
does—" 

"Come  along,  Marna,"  commanded  Kate.  "We 
must  n't  miss  that  next  car." 

They  barely  were  in  their  seats  when  the  lights 
went  up,  and  before  them  glittered  the  Auditorium, 
that  vast  and  noble  audience  chamber  identified  with 
innumerable  hours  of  artistic  satisfaction.  The  re 
ceding  arches  of  the  ceiling  glittered  like  incan 
descent  nebulae;  the  pictured  procession  upon  the 
proscenium  arch  spoke  of  the  march  of  ideas  —  of 
the  passionate  onflow  of  man's  dreams  —  of  what 
ever  he  has  held  beautiful  and  good. 

Kate  yielded  herself  over  to  the  deep  and  happy 
sense  of  completion  which  this  vast  chamber  always 
gave  her,  and  while  she  and  Marna  sat  there,  silent, 
friendly,  receptive,  she  felt  her  cares  and  frets  slip 
ping  from  her,  and  guessed  that  the  drag  of  Mama's 

292 


THE  PRECIPICE 

innumerable  petty  responsibilities  was  disappearing, 
too.  For  here  was  the  pride  of  life  —  the  power  of 
man  expressed  in  architecture,  and  in  the  high  en- 
trancement  of  music.  The  rich  folds  of  the  great 
curtain  satisfied  her,  the  innumerable  lights  en 
chanted  her,  and  the  loveliness  of  the  women  in  their 
fairest  gowns  and  their  jewels  added  one  more  ele 
ment  to  that  indescribable  thing,  compacted  of  so 
many  elements,  —  all  artificial,  all  curiously  and 
brightly  related,  —  which  the  civilized  world  calls 
opera,  and  in  which  man  rejoices  with  an  inconsist 
ent  and  more  or  less  indefensible  joy. 

The  lights  dimmed ;  the  curtain  parted ;  the  heights 
above  Nagasaki  were  revealed.  Below  lay  the  city 
in  purple  haze;  beyond  dreamed  the  harbor  where 
the  battleships,  the  merchantmen  and  the  little  fish 
ing-boats  rode.  The  impossible,  absurd,  exquisite 
music-play  of  "Madame  Butterfly"  had  begun. 

Oh,  the  music  that  went  whither  it  would,  like 
wind  or  woman's  hopes ;  that  lifted  like  the  song  of  a 
bird  and  sank  like  the  whisper  of  waves.  Vague  as 
reverie,  fitful  as  thought,  yearning  as  frustrate  love, 
it  fluttered  about  them. 

"The  new  music,"  whispered  Marna. 

"Like  flame  leaping  and  dying,"  responded  Kate. 

They  did  not  realize  the  passage  of  time.  They 
passed  from  chamber  to  chamber  in  that  gleaming 
house  of  song. 

"This  was  the  best  of  all  to  me,"  breathed  Marna, 
as  Farrar's  voice  took  up  the  first  notes  of  that  in- 

293 


THE  PRECIPICE 

comparable  song  of  woven  hopes  and  fears,  "Some 
Day  He'll  Come."  The  wild  cadences  of  the  singer's 
voice,  inarticulate,  of  universal  appeal,  like  the  cry 
of  a  lost  child  or  the  bleating  of  a  lamb  on  a  windy 
hill,  —  were  they  mere  singing?  Or  were  they  sing 
ing  at  all?  Yes,  the  new  singing,  where  music  and 
drama  insistently  meet. 

The  tale,  heart-breaking  for  beauty  and  for  pathos, 
neared  its  close.  Oh,  the  little  heart  of  flame  ex 
piring  at  its  loveliest !  Oh,  the  loyal  feet  that  waited 
—  eager  to  run  on  love's  errands  —  till  dawn 
brought  the  sight  of  faded  flowers,  the  suddenly 
bleak  apartment,  the  unpressed  couch!  Then  the 
brave,  swift  flight  of  the  spirit's  wings  to  other  alti 
tudes,  above  pain  and  shame!  And  like  love  and 
sorrow,  refined  to  a  poignant  essence,  still  the  music 
brooded  and  cried  and  aspired. 

What  visions  arose  in  Mama's  brain,  Kate  won 
dered,  quivering  with  vicarious  anguish.  Glancing 
down  at  her  companion's  small,  close-clasped  hands, 
she  thought  of  their  almost  ceaseless  toil  in  those 
commonplace  rooms  which  she  called  home,  and  for 
the  two  in  it  —  the  ordinary  man,  the  usual  baby. 
And  she  might  have  had  all  this  brightness,  this 
celebrity,  this  splendid  reward  for  high  labor! 

The  curtain  closed  on  the  last  act,  —  on  the  little 
dead  Cio-Cio-San,  —  and  the  people  stood  on  their 
feet  to  call  Farrar,  giving  her  unstintedly  of  their 
bravas.  Kate  and  Marna  stood  with  the  others,  but 
they  were  silent.  There  were  large,  glistening  tears 

294 


THE   PRECIPICE 

on  Mama's  cheeks,  and  Kate  refrained  from  adding 
to  her  silent  singing-bird's  distress  by  one  word  of 
appreciation  of  the  evening's  pleasure;  but  as  they 
moved  down  the  thronged  aisle  together,  she  caught 
Mania's  hand  in  her  own,  and  felt  her  fingers  close 
about  it  tenaciously. 

Outside  a  bitter  wind  was  blowing,  and  with  such 
purpose  that  it  had  cleared  the  sky  of  the  day's  murk 
so  that  countless  stars  glittered  with  unwonted  bril 
liancy  from  a  purple-black  heaven.  Crowded  before 
the  entrance  were  the  motors,  pouring  on  in  a  steady 
stream,  their  lamps  half  dazzling  the  pedestrians  as 
they  struggled  against  the  wind  that  roared  be 
tween  the  high  buildings. 

Though  Marna  was  to  take  the  Madison  Street  car, 
they  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  turn  upon  the 
boulevard  where  the  scene  was  even  more  exhilara 
ting.  The  high  standing  lights  that  guarded  the 
great  drive  offered  a  long  and  dazzling  vista,  and  be 
tween  them,  sweeping  steadily  on,  were  the  motor 
cars.  Laughing,  talking,  shivering,  the  people  has 
tened  along  —  the  men  of  fashion  stimulated  and 
alert,  their  women  splendid  in  furs  and  cloaks  of 
velvet  while  they  waited  for  their  conveyances;  by 
them  tripped  the  music  students,  who  had  been  in 
comparably  happy  in  the  highest  balcony,  and  who 
now  cringed  before  the  penetrating  cold;  among 
them  marched  sedately  the  phalanx  of  middle-class 
people  who  permitted  themselves  an  opera  or  two  a 
year,  and  who  walked  sedately,  carrying  their  musi- 

295 


THE  PRECIPICE 

cal  feast  with  a  certain  sense  of  indigestion ;  —  all 
moved  along  together,  thronging  the  wide  pavement. 
The  restaurants  were  awaiting  those  who  had  the 
courage  for  further  dissipation ;  the  suburban  trains 
had  arranged  their  schedules  to  convenience  the 
crowd ;  and  the  lights  burned  low  in  the  hallways  of 
mansions,  or  apartments,  or  neat  outlying  houses, 
awaiting  the  return  of  these  adventurers  into  an 
other  world  —  the  world  of  music.  All  would  talk  of 
Farrar.  Not  alone  that  night,  nor  that  week,  but 
always,  as  long  as  they  lived,  at  intervals,  when 
they  were  happy,  when  their  thoughts  were  uplifted, 
they  would  talk  of  her.  And  it  might  have  been 
Mania  Cartan  instead  of  Geraldine  Farrar  of  whom 
they  spoke ! 

"Marna  of  the  far  quest"  might  have  made  this 
"flight  unhazarded";  might  have  been  the  core  of 
all  this  fine  excitement.  But  she  had  put  herself  out 
of  it.  She  had  sold  herself  for  a  price  —  the  usual 
price.  Kate  would  not  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  a 
birthright  had  been  sold  for  a  mess  of  pottage,  but 
Ray  McCrea's  stock  was  far  below  par  at  that  mo 
ment.  Yet  Ray,  as  she  admitted,  would  not  doom 
her  to  a  life  of  monotony  and  heavy  toil.  With  him 
she  would  have  the  free  and  useful,  the  amusing  and 
excursive  life  of  an  American  woman  married  to  a 
man  of  wealth.  No,  her  programme  would  not  be 
a  petty  one  —  and  yet  — 

" Do  take  a  cab,  Marna,"  she  urged.  "My  treat! 
Please." 

296 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"  No,  no,"  said  Marna  in  a  strained  voice.  "  I  '11 
not  do  that.  A  five-cent  ride  in  the  car  will  take  me 
almost  to  my  door;  and  besides  the  cars  are  warm, 
which  is  an  advantage." 

It  was  understood  tacitly  that  Kate  was  the  pro 
tector,  and  the  one  who  would  n't  mind  being  on  the 
street  alone.  They  had  but  a  moment  to  wait  for 
Mama's  car,  but  in  that  moment  Kate  was  think 
ing  how  terrible  it  would  be  for  Marna,  in  her  worn 
evening  gown,  to  be  crowded  into  that  common  con 
veyance  and  tormented  with  those  futile  regrets 
which  must  be  her  so  numerous  companions. 

She  was  not  surprised  when  Marna  snatched  her 
hand,  crying:  — 

"Oh,  Kate!" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  murmured  Kate  sooth 
ingly. 

"No,  you  don't,"  retorted  Marna.  "How  can 
you?  It's  —  it's  the  milk." 

There  was  a  catch  in  her  voice. 

"The  milk!"  echoed  Kate  blankly.  "What  milk? 
I  thought — " 

"Oh,  I  know,"  Marna  cried  impatiently.  "You 
thought  I  was  worrying  about  that  old  opera,  and 
that  I  wanted  to  be  up  there  behind  that  screen 
stabbing  myself.  Well,  of  course,  knowing  the  score 
so  well,  and  having  hoped  once  to  do  so  much  with  it, 
the  notes  did  rather  try  to  jump  out  of  my  throat. 
But,  goodness,  what  does  all  that  matter?  It 's  the 
baby's  milk  that  I  'm  carrying  on  about.  I  don't  be- 

297 


THE   PRECIPICE 

Keve  I  told  George  to  warm  it."  Her  voice  ceased 
in  a  wail. 

The  car  swung  around  the  corner,  and  Kate  half 
lifted  Marna  up  the  huge  step,  and  saw  her  go  reeling 
down  the  aisle  as  the  cumbersome  vehicle  lurched 
forward.  Then  she  turned  her  own  steps  toward  the 
stairs  of  the  elevated  station. 

"The  milk!"  she  ejaculated  with  commingled 
tenderness  and  impatience.  "Then  that's  why  she 
did  n't  say  anything  about  going  behind  the  scenes. 
I  thought  it  was  because  she  could  n't  endure  the 
old  surroundings  and  the  pity  of  her  associates  of 
the  opera-days.  The  milk!  I  wonder — " 

What  she  wondered  she  did  not  precisely  say ;  but 
more  than  one  person  on  the  crowded  elevated  train 
noticed  that  the  handsome  woman  in  black  velvet 
(it  really  was  velveteen,  purchased  at  a  bargain) 
had  something  on  her  mind. 


XXV 

KATE  slept  lightly  that  night.  She  had  gone  to 
bed  with  a  sense  of  gentle  happiness,  which  arose 
from  the  furtive  conviction  that  she  was  going  to 
surrender  to  Ray  and  to  his  point  of  view.  He  could 
take  all  the  responsibility  if  he  liked  and  she  would 
follow  the  old  instincts  of  woman  and  let  the  Causes 
of  Righteousness  with  which  she  had  allied  herself 
contrive  to  get  along  without  her.  It  was  nothing, 
she  told  herself,  but  sheer  egotism  for  her  to  suppose 
that  she  was  necessary  to  their  prosperity. 

She  half  awoke  many  times,  and  each  time  she 
had  a  vague,  sweet  longing  which  refused  to  resolve 
itself  into  definite  shape.  But  when  the  full  morning 
came  she  knew  it  was  Ray  she  wanted.  She  could  n't 
wait  out  the  long  week  he  had  prescribed  as  a  season 
of  fasting  and  prayer  before  she  gave  her  answer, 
and  she  was  shamelessly  glad  when  her  superior, 
over  there  at  the  Settlement  House,  informed  her 
that  she  would  be  required  to  go  to  a  dance-hall  at 
South  Chicago  that  night  —  a  terrible  place,  which 
might  well  have  been  called  "The  Girl  Trap."  This 
gave  Kate  a  legitimate  excuse  to  ask  for  Ray's  com 
pany,  because  he  had  besought  her  not  to  go  to  such 
places  at  night  without  his  escort. 

"  But  ought  I  to  be  seeing  you?  "  he  asked  over  the 
299 


THE  PRECIPICE 

telephone  in  answer  to  her  request.  "Would  n't  it 
be  better  for  my  cause  if  I  stayed  away?" 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  laughed,  she  knew 
he  was  quite  in  earnest,  and  she  wondered  why  he 
had  n't  discerned  her  compliant  mood  from  her  in 
tonations. 

"But  I  had  to  mind  you,  had  n't  I?"  she  sent 
back.  "You  said  I  must  n't  go  to  such  places  with 
out  you." 

From  her  tone  she  might  have  been  the  most  be- 
tendriled  feminine  vine  that  ever  wrapped  a  self- 
satisfied  masculine  oak. 

"Oh,  I'll  come,"  he  answered.  "Of  course  I'll 
come.  You  knew  you  had  only  to  give  me  the 
chance." 

He  was  on  time,  impeccable,  as  always,  in  ap 
pearance.  ;  Kate  was  glad  that  he  was  as  tall  as 
she.  She  knew,  down  in  her  inner  consciousness, 
that  they  made  a  fine  appearance  together,  that  they 
stepped  off  gallantly.  It  came  to  her  that  perhaps 
they  were  to  be  envied,  and  that  they  were  n't  —  or 
at  least  that  she  was  n't  —  giving  their  good  fortune 
its  full  valuation. 

She  told  him  about  her  dinner  with  the  Fitzger- 
alds  and  about  the  opera,  but  she  held  back  her  dis 
covery,  so  to  speak,  of  the  baby,  and  the  episode  of 
Marna's  wistful  tears  when  she  heard  the  music, 
and  her  amazing  volte-face  at  remembering  the  baby's 
feeding-time.  She  would  have  loved  to  spin  out  the 
story  to  him  —  she  could  have  deepened  the  colors 

300 


THE  PRECIPICE1 

just  enough  to  make  it  all  very  telling.  But  she 
was  n't  willing  to  give  away  the  reason  for  her 
changed  mood.  It  was  enough,  after  all,  that  he  was 
aware  of  it,  and  that  when  he  drew  her  hand  within 
his  arm  he  held  it  in  a  clasp  that  asserted  his  right 
to  keep  it. 

They  were  happy  to  be  in  each  other's  company 
again.  Kate  had  to  admit  it.  For  the  moment  it 
seemed  to  both  of  them  that  it  did  n't  matter  much 
where  they  went  so  long  as  they  could  go  together. 
They  rode  out  to  South  Chicago  on  the  ill-smelling 
South  Deering  cars,  crowded  with  men  and  women 
with  foreign  faces.  One  of  the  men  trod  on  Kate's 
foot  with  his  hobnailed  shoe  and  gave  an  inarticulate 
grunt  by  way  of  apology. 

"He's  crushed  it,  has  n't  he?"  asked  Ray  anx 
iously,  seeing  the  tears  spring  to  her  eyes.  "What 
a  brute!" 

"Oh,  it  was  an  accident,"  Kate  protested.  "Any 
one  might  have  done  it." 

"But  anyone  except  that  unspeakable  Huniack 
would  have  done  more  than  grunt!" 

"I  dare  say  he  doesn't  know  English,"  Kate 
insisted.  "He'll  probably  remember  the  incident 
longer  and  be  sorrier  about  it  than  some  who  would 
have  been  able  to  make  graceful  apologies." 

"Not  he,"  declared  Ray.  "Don't  you  think  it! 
Bless  me,  Kate,  why  you  prefer  these  people  to  any 
others  passes  my  comprehension.  Can't  you  leave 
these  people  to  work  out  their  own  salvation  — 

301 


THE  PRECIPICE 

which  to  my  notion  is  the  only  way  they  ever  can 
get  it  —  and  content  yourself  with  your  own  kind 
and  class?" 

"Not  variety  enough,"  retorted  Kate,  feeling  her 
tenderness  evaporate  and  her  tantalizing  mood  — 
her  usual  one  when  she  was  with  Ray  —  come  back. 
"  Don't  I  know  just  what  you,  for  example,  are  going 
to  think  and  say  about  any  given  circumstances? 
Don't  I  know  your  enthusiasms  and  reactions  as  if 
I  'd  invented  'em?  " 

"Well,  I  know  yours,  too,  but  that's  because  I 
love  you,  not  because  you're  like  everybody  else. 
I  wish  you  were  rather  more  like  other  women,  Kate. 
I'd  have  an  easier  time." 

"  If  we  were  married,"  said  Kate,  with  that  cheer 
ful  directness  which  showed  how  her  sentimentality 
had  taken  flight,  "you'd  never  give  up  till  you'd 
made  me  precisely  like  Mrs.  Brown,  Mrs.  Smith,  and 
Mrs.  Johnson.  Men  fall  in  love  with  women  because 
they  're  different  from  other  women,  and  then  put  in 
the  first  years  of  their  married  life  trying  to  make 
them  like  everybody  else.  I've  noticed,  however, 
that  when  they  've  finished  the  job,  they  're  so  bored 
with  the  result  that  they  go  and  look  up  another 
'different*  woman.  Oh,  I  know!" 

He  could  n't  say  what  he  wished  in  reply  because 
the  car  filled  up  just  then  with  a  party  of  young  peo 
ple  bound  for  a  dance  in  Russell  Square.  It  always 
made  Kate's  heart  glow  to  think  of  things  like  that 
—  of  what  the  city  was  trying  to  do  for  its  people. 

302 


THE  PRECIPICE 

These  young  people  came  from  small,  comfortable 
homes,  quite  capacious  enough  for  happiness  and 
self-respect,  but  not  large  enough  for  a  dance.  Very 
well ;  all  that  was  needed  was  a  simple  request  for  the 
use  of  the  field-house  and  they  could  have  at  their  dis 
posal  a  fine,  airy  hall,  well-warmed  and  lighted,  with 
an  excellent  floor,  charming  decorations,  and  a  room 
where  they  might  prepare  their  refreshments.  All 
they  had  to  pay  for  was  the  music.  Proper  chaper- 
onage  was  required  and  the  hall  closed  at  midnight. 
Kate  descanted  on  the  beauties  of  the  system  till 
Ray  yawned. 

".Think  how  different  it  is  at  the  dance-hall  where 
we  are  going,"  she  went  on,  not  heeding  his  disin 
clination  for  the  subject.  "They'll  keep  it  up  till 
dawn  and  drink  between  every  dance.  There's  not 
a  party  of  the  kind  the  whole  winter  through  that 
does  n't  see  the  steps  of  some  young  girl  set  toward 
destruction.  Oh,  I  can't  see  why  it  is  n't  stopped ! 
If  women  had  the  management  of  things,  it  would 
be,  I  can  tell  you.  It  would  take  about  one  day  to 
do  it." 

"That's  one  of  the  reasons  why  the  liquor  men 
combine  to  kill  suffrage,"  said  Ray.  "They  know 
it  will  be  a  sorry  day  for  them  when  the  women  get 
in.  Positively,  the  women  seem  to  think  that's  all 
there  is  to  politics  —  some  moral  question ;  and  the 
whole  truth  is  they  'd  do  a  lot  of  damage  to  business 
with  their  slap-dash  methods,  as  they'd  learn  to 
their  cost.  When  they  found  their  pin-money  being 

303 


THE   PRECIPICE 

cut  down,  they'd  sing  another  tune,  for  they're  the 
most  reckless  spenders  in  the  world,  American 
women  are." 

"They're  the  purchasing  agents  for  the  most  ex- 
travagant  nation  in  the  world,  if  you  like,"  Kate 
replied.  "Men  seem  to  think  that  shopping  is  a 
mere  feminine  diversion.  They  forget  that  it's  what 
supports  their  business  and  supplies  their  homes. 
Not  to  speak  of  any  place  beyond  our  own  town, 
think  of  the  labor  involved  in  buying  food  and  cloth 
ing  for  the  two  million  and  a  half  human  beings  here 
in  Chicago.  It's  no  joke,  I  assure  you." 

"Joke!"  echoed  Ray.  "A  good  deal  of  the  shop 
ping  I  Ve  seen  at  my  father's  store  seems  to  me  to 
come  under  the  head  of  vice.  The  look  I  Ve  seen  on 
some  of  those  faces!  It  was  ravaging  greed,  nothing 
less.  Why,  we  had  a  sale  the  other  day  of  cheap 
jewelry,  salesmen's  samples,  and  the  women  swarmed 
and  snatched  and  glared  like  savages.  I  declare, 
when  I  saw  them  like  that,  so  indecently  eager  for 
their  trumpery  ornaments,  I  said  to  myself  that 
you  'd  only  to  scratch  the  civilized  woman  to  get  at 
the  squaw  any  day." 

Kate  kept  a  leash  on  her  tongue.  She  supposed 
it  was  inevitable  that  they  should  get  back  to  the 
old  quarrel.  Deep  down  in  Ray,  she  felt,  was  an 
unconquerable  contempt  for  women.  He  made  an 
exception  of  her  because  he  loved  her ;  because  she 
drew  him  with  the  mysterious  sex  attraction.  It  was 
that,  and  not  any  sense  of  spiritual  or  intellectual  ap- 

304 


THE   PRECIPICE 

proval  of  her,  which  made  him  set  her  apart  as  worthy 
of  admiration  and  of  his  devoted  service.  If  ever 
their  lives  were  joined,  she  would  be  his  treasure  to 
be  kept  close  in  his  personal  casket,  —  with  the  key 
to  the  golden  padlock  in  his  pocket,  —  and  he  would 
all  but  say  his  prayers  to  her.  But  all  that  would 
not  keep  him  from  openly  discountenancing  her 
judgment  before  people.  She  could  imagine  him 
putting  off  a  suggestion  of  hers  with  that  patient 
married  tone  which  husbands  assume  when  they 
discover  too  much  independent  cerebration  on  the 
part  of  their  wives. 

"  I  could  n't  stand  that,"  she  inwardly  declared, 
as  she  let  him  think  that  he  was  assisting  her  from 
the  car.  "If  any  man  ever  used  that  patient  tone 
to  me,  I'd  murder  him!" 

She  could  n't  keep  back  her  sardonic  chuckle. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?"  he  asked  irritatedly. 

"At  the  mad  world,  master,"  she  answered. 

"Where  is  this  dance-hall?"  he  demanded,  as  if 
he  suspected  her  of  concealing  it. 

The  tone  was  precisely  the  "married"  one  she 
had  been  imagining,  and  she  burst  out  with  a  laugh 
that  made  him  stop  and  visibly  wrap  his  dignity 
about  him.  Nothing  was  more  evident  than  that 
he  thought  her  silly.  But  as  she  paused,  too,  stand 
ing  beneath  the  street-lamp,  and  he  saw  her  with 
her  nonchalant  tilt  of  her  head,  —  that  handsome 
head  poised  on  her  strong,  erect  body,  —  her  force 
and  value  were  so  impressed  upon  him  that  he  had 

305 


THE  PRECIPICE 

to  retract.  But  she  was  provoking,  no  getting 
around  that. 

At  that  moment  another  sound  than  laughter 
cut  the  air  —  a  terrible  sound  —  the  shriek  of  a 
tortured  child.  It  rang  out  three  times  in  quick 
succession,  and  Kate's  blood  curdled. 

"  Oh,  oh, "  she  gasped ; ' '  she 's  being  beaten !  Come, 
Ray." 

"Mix  up  in  some  family  mess  and  get  slugged  for 
my  pains3  Not  I !  But  I  '11  call  a  policeman  if  you 
say." 

"Oh,  it  might  be  too  late!  I'm  a  policeman,  you 
know.  Get  the  patrol  wagon  if  you  like.  But  I  can't 
stand  that—" 

Once  more  that  agonized  scream!  Kate  flashed 
from  him  into  the  mesh  of  mean  homes,  standing 
three  deep  in  each  yard,  flanking  each  other  with 
only  a  narrow  passage  between,  and  was  lost  to  him. 
He  could  n't  see  where  she  had  gone,  but  he  knew 
that  he  must  follow.  He  fell  down  a  short  flight  of 
steps  that  led  from  the  street  to  the  lower  level  of 
the  yard,  and  groped  forward.  He  could  hear  people 
running,  and  when  a  large  woman,  draping  her 
wrapper  about  her,  floundered  out  of  a  basement 
door  near  him,  he  followed  her.  She  seemed  to  know 
where  to  go.  The  squalid  drama  with  the  same  ac 
tors  evidently  had  been  played  before. 

Mid-length  of  the  building  the  woman  turned  up 
some  stairs  and  came  to  a  long  hall  which  divided 
the  front  and  rear  stairs.  At  the  end  of  it  a  light  was 

306 


THE  PRECIPICE 

burning,  and  Kate's  voice  was  ringing  out  like  that 
of  an  officer  excoriating  his  delinquent  troops. 

"  I  'm  glad  you  can't  speak  English,"  he  heard  her 
say,  "for  if  you  could  I  'd  say  things  I  'd  be  sorry  for. 
I  'd  shrivel  you  up,  you  great  brute.  If  you've  got 
the  devil  in  you,  can't  you  take  it  out  on  some  one 
else  beside  a  little  child?  You  're  her  father,  are  you? 
She  has  no  mother,  I  suppose.  Well,  you're  under 
arrest,  do  you  understand?  Tell  him,  some  of  you 
who  can  talk  English.  He's  to  sit  in  that  chair  and 
never  move  from  it  till  the  patrol  wagon  comes.  I 
shall  care  for  the  child  myself,  and  she'll  be  placed 
where  he  can't  treat  her  like  that  again.  Poor  little 
thing!  Thank  you,  that's  a  good  woman.  Just  hold 
her  awhile  and  comfort  her.  I  can  see  you've  chil 
dren  of  your  own." 

Ray  found  the  courage  at  length  to  peer  above  the 
heads  of  the  others  in  that  miserable,  crowded  room. 
The  dark  faces  of  weary  men  and  women,  heavy 
with  Old- World,  inherited  woe,  showed  in  the  gloom. 
The  short,  shaking  man  on  the  chair,  dully  contrite 
for  his  spasm  of  rage,  was  cringing  before  Kate,  who 
stood  there,  amazingly  tall  among  these  low-stat- 
ured  beings.  Never  had  she  looked  to  Ray  so  like  an 
eagle,  so  keen,  so  fierce,  so  fit  for  braving  either  sun 
or  tenebrous  cavern.  She  dominated  them  all;  had 
them,  who  only  partly  understood  what  she  said,  at 
her  command.  She  had  thrown  back  her  cloak,  and 
the  star  of  the  Juvenile  Court  officer  which  she  wore 
carried  meaning  to  them.  Though  perhaps  it  had 

307 


THE   PRECIPICE 

not  needed  that.  Ray  tried  to  think  her  theatrical, 
to  be  angry  at  her,  but  the  chagrin  of  knowing  that 
she  had  forgotten  him,  and  was  not  caring  about  his 
opinion,  scourged  his  criticisms  back.  She  had  lifted 
from  the  floor  the  stick  with  its  leathern  thong  with 
which  the  man  had  castigated  the  tender  body  of  his 
motherless  child.  She  held  it  in  her  hand,  looking 
at  it  with  the  angry  aversion  that  she  might  have 
turned  upon  a  venomous  serpent.  Then  slowly,  with 
unspeakable  rebuke,  she  swung  her  gaze  upon  the 
wretch  in  the  chair.  For  a  moment  she  silently  ac 
cused  him.  Then  he  dropped  his  head  in  his  hands 
and  sobbed.  He  seemed  in  his  voiceless  way  to  say 
that  he,  too,  had  been  castigated  by  a  million  invisi 
ble  thongs  held  in  dead  men's  hands,  and  that  his 
soul,  like  his  child's  body,  was  hideous  with  welts. 

Kate  turned  to  Ray. 

"Is  the  patrol  wagon  on  its  way?"  she  inquired. 

"I  —  I  —  did  n't  call  it,"  he  stammered. 

"Please  do,"  she  said 'simply. 

He  went  out  of  the  room,  silently  raging,  and  was 
grateful  that  one  of  the  men  followed  to  show  him 
the  patrol  box.  He  waited  outside  for  the  wagon  to 
come,  and  when  the  officers  brought  out  the  shaking 
prisoner,  he  saw  Kate  with  them  carrying  the  child 
in  her  arms. 

"I  must  go  to  the  station,"  she  said  to  Ray,  in  a 
matter-of-fact  tone  that  put  him  far  away  from  her. 
"So  I'll  say  good-night.  It  would  n't  be  pleasant 
for  you  to  ride  in  the  wagon,  you  know.  I'll  be 

308 


THE   PRECIPICE 

quite  all  right.  One  of  the  officers  will  see  me  safe 
home.  Anyway,  I  shall  have  to  go  to  the  dance-hall 
before  the  evening's  over." 

"Kate!"  he  protested. 

"Oh,  I  know,"  she  said  to  him  apart  softly  while 
the  others  concerned  themselves  with  assisting  the 
blubbering  Huniack  into  the  wagon,  "you  think  it 
is  n't  nice  of  me  to  be  going  around  like  this,  saving 
babies  from  beatings  and  young  girls  from  much 
worse.  You  think  it  is  n't  ladylike.  But  it's  what 
the  coming  lady  is  either  going  to  do  or  see  done. 
It's  a  new  idea,  you  understand,  Ray.  Quite  differ 
ent  from  the  squaw  idea,  is  n't  it?  Good-night!" 

An  officer  stood  at  the  door  of  the  wagon  waiting 
for  her.  He  touched  his  hat  and  smiled  at  her  in  a 
comradely  fashion,  and  she  responded  with  as  cour 
teous  a  bow  as  she  ever  had  made  to  Ray. 

The  wagon  drove  off. 

"I've  been  given  my  answer,"  said  Ray  aloud. 
He  wondered  if  he  were  more  relieved  or  disap 
pointed  at  the  outcome.  But  really  he  could  neither 
feel  nor  think  reasonably.  He  went  home  in  a  tu 
mult,  dismayed  at  his  own  sufferings,  and  in  no  con 
dition  to  realize  that  the  old  ideas  and  the  new  were 
at  death  grips  in  his  consciousness. 


XXVI 

KARL  Wander  rode  wearily  up  the  hill  on  his  black 
mare.  Honora  saw  him  coming  and  waved  to  him 
from  the  window.  There  was  no  one  to  put  up  his 
horse,  and  he  drove  her  into  the  stables  and  fed  her 
and  spread  her  bed  while  Honora  watched  what  he 
and  she  had  laughingly  termed  "  the  outposts."  For 
she  believed  she  had  need  to  be  on  guard,  and  she 
thanked  heaven  that  all  of  the  approaches  to  the 
house  were  in  the  open  and  that  there  was  nothing 
nearer  than  the  rather  remote  grove  of  pinon  trees 
which  could  shelter  any  creeping  enemy. 

Wander  came  on  at  last  to  the  house,  making  his 
way  deliberately  and  scorning,  it  would  seem,  all 
chance  of  attack.  But  Honora's  ears  fairly  reverber 
ated  with  the  pistol  shot  which  did  not  come;  the 
explosion  which  was  now  so  long  delayed.  She  ran 
to  open  the  door  for  him  and  to  drag  him  into  the 
friendly  kitchen,  where,  in  the  absence  of  any  do 
mestic  help,  she  had  spread  their  evening  meal. 

There  was  a  look  in  his  face  which  she  had  not 
seen  there  before  —  a  look  of  quietude,  of  finality. 

"Well?"  she  asked. 

He  flung  his  hat  on  a  settle  and  sat  down  to  loosen 
his  leggings. 

"They've  gone,"  he  said,  "bag  and  baggage." 

"The  miners?" 

310 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"Yes,  left  this  afternoon  —  confiscated  some 
trains  and  made  the  crews  haul  them  out  of  town. 
They  shook  their  fists  at  the  mines  and  the  works  as 
if  they  had  been  the  haunt  of  the  devil.  I  could  n't 
bring  myself  to  skulk.  I  rode  Nell  right  down  to  the 
station  and  sat  there  till  the  last  carload  pulled  out 
with  the  men  and  women  standing  together  on  the 
platform  to  curse  me." 

"Karl!  How  could  you?  It's  a  marvel  you 
were  n't  shot." 

"Too  easy  a  mark,  I  reckon." 

"And  Elena?" 

"Lifted  on  board  by  two  rival  suitors.  She  did  n't 
even  look  at  me."  He  drew  a  long  breath.  "I  was 
guiltless  in  that,  Honora.  You  've  stood  by  through 
everything,  and  you've  made  a  cult  of  believing  in 
me,  and  I  want  you  to  know  that,  so  far  as  Elena 
was  concerned,  you  were  right  to  do  it.  I  may  have 
been  a  fool  —  but  not  consciously  —  not  con 
sciously." 

"I  know  it.  I  believe  you." 

A  silence  fell  between  them  while  Honora  set 
the  hot  supper  on  the  table  and  put  the  tea  to 
draw. 

"It's  very  still,"  he  said  finally.  "But  the  still 
ness  here  is  nothing  to  what  it  is  down  where  my 
village  stood.  I  've  made  a  frightful  mess  of  things, 
Honora." 

"No,"  she  said,  "you  built  up;  another  has  torn 
down.  You  must  get  more  workmen.  There  may 


[THE  PRECIPICE 

be  a  year  or  two  of  depression,  but  you  're  going  to 
win  out,  Karl." 

"I've  fought  a  good  many  rights  first  and  last, 
Honora,  —  fights  you  know  nothing  about.  Some 
of  them  have  been  with  men,  some  with  ideas,  some 
of  the  worst  ones  with  myself.  It  would  be  a  long 
story  and  a  strange  one  if  I  were  to  tell  it  all." 

"I  dare  say  it  would." 

"  I  suppose  I  must  seem  very  strange  to  a  civilized 
woman  like  you,  or  —  or  your  friend,  Kate  Barring- 
ton." 

"You  seem  very  like  a  brave  man,  Karl,  and  an 
interesting  one." 

"But  I'm  tired,  Honora,  —  extraordinarily  tired. 
I  don't  feel  like  fighting.  Quiet  and  rest  are  what 
I  'm  longing  for,  and  I  'm  to  begin  all  over  again,  it 
appears.  I  Ve  got  to  struggle  up  again  almost  from 
the  bottom." 

"Come  to  supper,  Karl.  Never  mind  all  that. 
We  have  food  and  we  have  shelter.  No  doubt  we 
shall  sleep.  Things  like  that  deserve  our  gratitude. 
Accept  these  blessings.  There  are  many  who  lack 
them." 

Suddenly  he  threw  up  his  arms  with  a  despairing 
gesture. 

"Oh,  it  is  n't  myself,  Honora,  that  I'm  grieving 
for!  It's  those  hot-headed,  misguided,  wayward 
fellows  of  mine!  They've  left  the  homes  I  tried  to 
help  them  win,  they've  followed  a  self-seeking,  half- 
mad,  wholly  vicious  agitator,  and  their  lives,  that 

312 


THE  PRECIPICE 

I  meant  to  have  flow  on  so'smoothly,  will  be  troubled 
and  wasted.  I  know  so  well  what  will  happen !  And 
then,  their  hate !  It  hangs  over  me  like  a  cloud !  I  'm 
not  supposed  to  be  sensitive.  I'm  looked  on  as  a 
swaggering,  reckless,  devil-may-care  fellow  with  a 
pretty  good  heart  and  a  mighty  sure  aim ;  but  I  tell 
you,  cousin,  among  them,  they've  taken  the  life  out 
of  me." 

"It's  your  dark  hour,  Karl.  You're  standing  the 
worst  of  it  right  now.  To-morrow  things  will  look 
better." 

"I  could  n't  ask  a  woman  to  come  out  here  and 
stand  amid  this  ruin  with  me,  Honora.  You  know 
I  could  n't.  The  only  person  who  would  be  willing 
to  share  my  present  life  with  me  would  be  some  poor, 
devil-driven  creature  like  Elena  —  come  to  think  of 
it,  even  she  would  n't!  She's  off  and  away  with  a 
lover  at  each  elbow!" 

"Here!"  said  Honora  imperatively.  She  held  a 
plate  toward  him  laden  with  steaming  food. 

He  arose,  took  it,  seated  himself,  and  tried  a 
mouthful,  but  he  had  to  wash  it  down  with  water. 

"  I  'm  too  tired,"  he  said.  "  Really,  Honora,  you  '11 
have  to  forgive  me." 

She  got  up  then  and  lighted  the  lamp  in  his  bed 
room. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said.  "Rest  is  what  I  need. 
It  was  odd  they  did  n't  shoot,  was  n't  it?  I  thought 
every  moment  that  they  would." 

"You  surely  did  n't  wish  that  they  would,  Karl?" 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"No."  He  paused  for  a  moment  at  the  door. 
"No  —  only  everything  appeared  to  be  so  futile. 
My  bad  deeds  never  turned  on  me  as  my  good  ones 
have  done.  It  makes  everything  seem  incoherent. 
What — what  would  a  woman  like  Miss  Harrington 
make  of  all  that  —  of  harm  coming  from  good?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Honora,  rather  sharply. 
"She  has  n't  written.  I  told  her  all  the  trouble  we 
were  in,  —  the  danger  and  the  distress,  —  but  she 
has  n't  written  a  word." 

"Why  should  she?"  demanded  Wander.  "It's 
none  of  her  concern.  I  suppose  she  thinks  a  fool  is 
best  left  with  his  folly.  Good-night,  cousin.  You  're 
a  good  woman  if  ever  there  was  one.  What  should 
I  have  done  without  you?" 

Honora  smiled  wanly.  He  seemed  to  have  for 
gotten  that  it  was  she  who  would  have  fared  poorly 
without  him. 

She  closed  up  the  house  for  the  night,  looking  out 
in  the  bright  moonlight  to  see  that  all  was  quiet. 
For  many  days  and  nights  she  had  been  continually 
on  the  outlook  for  lurking  figures,  but  now  she  was 
inclined  to  believe  that  she  had  overestimated  the 
animosity  of  the  strikers.  After  all,  try  as  they 
might,  they  could  bring  no  accusations  against  the 
man  who,  hurt  to  the  soul  by  their  misunderstanding 
of  him,  was  now  laying  his  tired  headoipon  his  pillow. 

All  was  very  still.  The  moonlight  touched  to  sil 
ver  the  snow  upon  the  mountains;  the  sound  of  the 
leaping  river  was  like  a  distant  flute;  the  wind  was 


THE  PRECIPICE 

rising  with  long,  wavelike  sounds.  Honora  lingered 
in  the  doorway,  looking  and  listening.  Her  heart 
was  big  with  pity  —  pity  for  that  disheartened  man 
whose  buoyancy  and  self-love  had  been  so  deeply 
wounded,  pity  for  those  wandering,  angry,  aimless 
'  men  and  women  who  might  have  rested  secure  in  his 
guardianship;  pity  for  all  the  hot,  misguided  hearts 
of  men  and  women.  Pity,  too,  for  the  man  with  the 
most  impetuous  heart  of  them  all,  who  wandered  in 
some  foreign  land  with  a  woman  whose  beauty  had 
been  his  lure  and  his  undoing.  Yes,  she  had  been 
given  grace  in  those  days,  when  she  seemed  to  stand 
face  to  face  with  death,  to  pity  even  David  and 
Mary! 

She  walked  with  a  slow  firm  step  up  to  her  room, 
holding  her  head  high.  She  had  learned  trust  as 
well  as  compassion.  She  trusted  Karl  and  the  issue 
of  his  sorrow.  She  even  trusted  the  issue  of  her  own 
sorrow,  which,  a  short  time  before,  had  seemed  so 
shameful.  She  threw  wide  her  great  windows,  and 
the  wind  and  the  moonlight  filled  her  chamber. 

Two  days  later  Karl  Wander  and  Honora  Fulham 
rode  together  to  the  village,  now  dismantled  and 
desolate. 

"I  remember,"  said  Karl,  "what  a  boyish  pride 
I  took  in  the  little  town  at  first,  Honora,  to  have 
built  it,  and  had  it  called  after  me  and  all.  Such 
silly  fools  as  men  are,  trying  to  perpetuate  them 
selves  by  such  childish  methods." 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"  Perpetuation  is  an  instinct  with  us,"  said  Hon- 
ora  calmly,  "  Immortality  is  our  greatest  hope.  I  'm 
so  thankful  I  have  my  children,  Karl.  They  seem 
to  carry  one's  personality  on,  you  know,  no  matter 
how  different  they  actually  may  be  from  one's  self." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Karl,  with  a  short  sigh,  "you're 
right  there.  You've  a  beautiful  brace  of  babies, 
Honora.  I  believe  I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  appoint 
me  their  guardian.  I  must  have  some  share  in  them. 
It  will  give  me  a  fresh  reason  for  going  on." 

"Are  you  a  trifle  short  of  reasons  for  going  on, 
Karl?"  Honora  asked  gently,  averting  her  look  so 
that  she  might  not  seem  to  be  watching  him. 

"Yes,  I  am,"  he  admitted  frankly.  "Although, 
now  that  the  worst  of  my  chagrin  is  over  at  having 
failed  so  completely  in  the  pet  scheme  of  my  life, 
I  can  feel  my  fighting  blood  getting  up  again.  I  'm 
going  to  make  a  success  of  the  town  of  Wander  yet, 
my  cousin,  and  those  three  mines  that  lie  there  so 
silently  are  going  to  hum  in  the  old  way.  You  '11  see 
a  string  of  men  pouring  in  and  out  of  those  gates  yet, 
take  my  word  for  it.  But  as  for  me,  I  proceed  hence 
forth  on  a  humbler  policy." 

"Humbler?  Isn't  it  humble  to  be  kind,  Karl? 
That 's  what  you  were  first  and  last  —  kind.  You 
were  forever  thinking  of  the  good  of  your  people." 

"It  was  outrageously  insolent  of  me  to  do  it,  my 
cousin.  Who  am  I  that  I  should  try  to  run  another 
man's  affairs?  How  should  I  know  what  is  best  for 
him  —  is  n't  he  the  one  to  be  the  judge  of  that? 

316 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Patronage,  patronage,  that 's  what  they  can't  stand 
—  that's  what  natural  overmen  like  myself  with 
amiable  dispositions  try  to  impose  on  those  we  think 
inferior  to  ourselves.  We  can't  seem  to  comprehend 
that  the  way  to  make  them  grow  is  to  leave  them 
alone." 

"Don't  be  bitter,  Karl." 

"I'm  not  bitter,  Honora.  I'm  rebuked.  I'm  lit 
eral.  I  'm  instructed.  I  have  brought  you  down  here 
to  talk  the  situation  over  with  me.  I  can  get  men  in 
plenty  to  advise  me,  but  I  want  to  know  what  you 
think  about  a  number  of  things.  Moreover,  I  want 
you  to  tell  me  what  you  imagine  Miss  Barrington 
would  think  about  them." 

"Why  don't  you  write  and  ask  her?"  asked  Hon 
ora.  She  herself  was  hurt  at  not  having  heard  from 
Kate. 

,-  "I  gave  her  notice  that  I  was  n't  going  to  write 
any  more,"  said  Karl  sharply.  "I  could  n't  have 
her  counting  on  me  when  I  was  n't  sure  that  I  was 
a  man  to  be  counted  on." 

"Oh,"  cried  Honora,  enlightened.  "That's  the 
trouble,  is  it?  But  still,  I  should  think  she'd  write 
to  me.  I  told  her  of  all  you  and  I  were  going  through 
together — "  she  broke  off  suddenly.  Her  words 
presented  to  her  for  the  first  time  some  hint  of  the 
idea  she  might  have  conveyed  to  Kate.  She  smiled 
upon  her  cousin  beautifully,  while  he  stared  at  her, 
puzzled  at  her  unexpected  radiance. 

"  Kate  loves  him,"  she  decided,  looking  at  the  man 


THE  PRECIPICE 

beside  her  with  fresh  appreciation  of  his  power.  She 
was  the  more  conscious  of  it  that  she  saw  him  now  in 
his  hour  of  defeat  and  perceived  his  hope  and  inge 
nuity,  his  courage  and  determination  gathering  to 
gether  slowly  but  steadily  for  a  fresh  effort. 

"Dear  old  Kate,"  she  mused.  "Karl  rebuffed 
her  in  his  misery,  and  I  misled  her.  If  she  had  n't 
cared  she'd  have  written  anyway.  As  it  is — " 

But  Karl  was  talking. 

"Now  there's  the  matter  of  the  company  store," 
he  was  saying.  "What  would  Miss  Barrington 
think  about  the  ethical  objections  to  that?" 

Honora  turned  her  attention  to  the  matter  in 
hand,  and  when,  late  that  afternoon,  the  two  rode 
their  jaded  horses  home,  a  new  campaign  had  been 
planned.  Within  a  week  Wander  left  for  Denver. 
Honora  heard  nothing  from  him  for  a  fortnight.  Then 
a  wire  came.  He  was  returning  to  Wander  with  five 
hundred  men. 

"They're  hoboes  —  pick-ups,"  he  told  Honora 
that  night  as  the  two  sat  together  at  supper.  "Long- 
stake  and  short-stake  men  —  down-and-outs  —  va 
grants  —  drunkards,  God  knows  what.  I  advertised 
for  them.  '  Previous  character  not  called  into  ques 
tion,'  was  what  I  said.  'Must  open  up  my  mines. 
Come  and  work  as  long  as  you  feel  like  it.'  I  have  n't 
promised  them  anything  and  they  have  n't  promised 
me  anything,  except  that  I  give  them  wages  for  work. 
A  few  of  them  have  women  with  them,  but  not  more 
than  one  in  twenty.  I  don't  know  what  kind  of  a 


THE  PRECIPICE 

mess  the  town  of  Wander  will  be  now,  but  at  any 
rate,  it's  sticking  to  its  old  programme  of  'open 
shop.'  Any  one  who  wants  to  take  these  fellows 
away  from  me  is  quite  welcome  to  do  it.  No  affection 
shall  exist  between  them  and  me.  There  are  no  obli 
gations  on  either  side.  But  they  seem  a  hearty, 
good-natured  lot,  and  they  said  they  liked  my  grit." 

Something  that  was  wild  and  reckless  in  all  of  the 
Wanders  flashed  in  Honora's  usually  quiet  eyes. 

"  A  band  of  brigands,"  she  laughed.  "  Really,  Karl, 
I  think  you  '11  make  a  good  chief  for  them.  There 's 
one  thing  certain,  they'll  never  let  you  patronize 
them." 

"I  shan't  try,"  declared  Karl.  "They  needn't 
look  to  me  for  benefits  of  any  sort.  I  want  miners." 

Honora  chuckled  pleasantly  and  looked  at  her 
cousin  from  the  corner  of  her  eye.  She  had  her  own 
ideas  about  his  ability  to  maintain  such  detach 
ment. 

He  amused  her  a  little  later  by  telling  her  how  he 
had  formed  a  town  government  and  he  described 
the  men  he  had  appointed  to  office. 

"They  take  it  seriously,  too,"  he  declared.  "We 
have  a  ragamuffin  government  and  regulations  that 
would  commend  themselves  to  the  most  judicious. 
'Pon  my  soul,  Honora,  though  it's  only  play,  I 
swear  some  of  these  fellows  begin  to  take  on  little 
affectations  of  self-respect.  We're  going  to  have  a 
council  meeting  to-morrow.  You  ought  to  come 
down." 


THE  PRECIPICE 

That  gave  Honora  a  cue.  She  was  wanting  some 
thing  more  to  do  than  to  look  after  the  house,  now 
that  servants  had  again  been  secured.  It  occurred 
to  her  that  it  might  be  a  good  idea  to  call  on  the 
women  down  at  Wander.  She  was  under  no  error 
as  to  their  character.  Broken-down  followers  of 
weak  men's  fortunes,  —  some  with  the  wedding  ring 
and  some  without,  —  they  nevertheless  were  there, 
flesh  and  blood,  and  possibly  heart  and  soul.  Not 
the  ideal  but  the  actual  commended  itself  to  her 
these  days.  Kate  had  taught  her  that  lesson.  So, 
quite  simply,  she  went  among  them. 

"Call  on  me  when  you  want  anything,"  she  said 
to  them.  "  I  'm  a  woman  who  has  seen  trouble,  and 
I  'd  like  to  be  of  use  to  any  of  you  if  trouble  should 
come  your  way.  Anyhow,  trouble  or  no  trouble,  let 
us  be  friends." 

In  her  simple  dress,  with  her  quiet,  sad  face  and 
her  deep  eyes,  she  convinced  them  of  sincerity  as 
few  women  could  have  done.  They  bade  her  enter 
their  doors  and  sit  in  their  sloven  homes  amid  the 
broken  things  the  Italians  had  left  behind  them. 

"Why  not  start  a  furniture  shop?"  asked  Hon 
ora.  "  We  could  find  some  men  here  who  could  make 
plain  furniture.  I  '11  see  Mr.  Wander  about  it." 

That  was  a  simple  enough  plan,  and  she  had  no 
trouble  in  carrying  it  out.  She  got  the  women  to  co 
operate  with  her  in  other  ways.  Among  them  they 
cleaned  up  the  town,  set  out  some  gardens,  and  be 
gan  spending  their  men's  money  for  necessaries. 

320 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"Do  watch  out,"  warned  Karl;  "you'll  get  to 
be  a  Lady  Bountiful  - 

"And  you  a  benevolent  magnate  - 

"Damned  if  I  will!  Well,  play  with  your  hobo 
brides  if  you  like,  Honora,  but  don't  look  for  grati 
tude  or  rectitude  or  any  beatitude." 

"Not  I,"  declared  Honora..  "I'm  only  amusing 
myself." 

They  kept  insisting  to  each  other  that  they  had 
no  higher  intention.  They  were  hilarious  over  their 
failures  and  they  persisted  in  taking  even  their  suc 
cesses  humorously.  At  first  the  "short-stake  men" 
drifted  away,  but  presently  they  began  to  drift  back 
again.  They  liked  it  at  Wander,  —  liked  being 
mildly  and  tolerantly  controlled  by  men  of  their  own 
sort,  —  men  with  some  vested  authority,  however, 
and  a  reawakened  perception  of  responsibility. 
Wander  was  their  town  —  the  hoboes'  own  city.  It 
was  one  of  the  few  places  where  something  was  ex 
pected  of  the  hobo.  Well,  a  hobo  was  a  man,  was  n't 
he?  The  point  was  provable.  A  number  of  Karl 
Wander's  vagrants  chose  to  prove  that  they  were 
not  reprobates.  Those  who  had  been  "down  and 
out"  by  their  own  will,  or  lack  of  it,  as  well  as  those 
whom  misfortune  had  dogged,  began  to  see  in  this 
wild  village,  in  the  heart  of  these  rich  and  terrific 
mountains,  that  wonderful  thing,  "another  chance." 

"Would  Miss  Harrington  approve  of  us  now?" 
Karl  would  sometimes  ask  Honora. 

"Why  should  she?"  Honora  would  retort.  " We're 
321 


THE   PRECIPICE 

not  in  earnest.  We  're  only  fighting  bankruptcy  and 
ennui." 

"That's  it,"  declared  Karl.  "By  the  way,  I  must 
scrape  up  some  more  capital  somewhere,  Honora. 
I  Ve  borrowed  everything  I  could  lay  my  hands  on 
in  Denver.  Now  I  Ve  written  to  some  Chicago  cap 
italists  about  my  affairs  and  they  show  a  disposition 
to  help  me  out.  They  '11  meet  in  Denver  next  week. 
Perhaps  I  shall  bring  them  here.  I've  told  them 
frankly  what  my  position  was.  You  see,  if  I  can 
swing  things  for  six  months  more,  the  tide  will  turn. 
Do  you  think  my  interesting  rabble  will  stick  to 
me?" 

"Don't  count  on  them,"  said  Honora.  "Don't 
count  on  anybody  or  anything.  But  if  you  like  to 
take  your  chance,  do  it.  It's  no  more  of  a  gamble 
than  anything  else  a  Colorado  man  is  likely  to  in 
vest  in." 

"You  don't  think  much  of  us  Colorado  men,  do 
you,  my  cousin?" 

"I  don't  think  you  are  quite  civilized,"  she  said. 
Then  a  twinge  of  memory  twisted  her  face.  "But 
I  don't  care  for  civilized  men.  I  like  glorious  bar 
barians  like  you,  Karl." 

"Men  who  are  shot  at  from  behind  bushes,  eh? 
If  I  ever  have  to  hide  in  a  cave,  Honora,  will  you  go 
with  me?" 

"Yes,  and  load  the  guns." 

He  flashed  her  a  curious  look ;  one  which  she  could 
not  quite  interpret.  Was  he  thinking  that  he  would 

322 


THE  PRECIPICE 

like  her  to  keep  beside  him?  For  a  second,  with  a 
thrill  of  something  like  fear,  this  occurred  to  her. 
Then  by  some  mysterious  process  she  read  his  mind, 
and  she  read  it  aright.  He  was  really  thinking  how 
stirring  a  thing  life  would  seem  if  he  could  hear 
words  like  that  from  the  lips  of  Kate  Barrington. 


XXVII 

IT  had  been  a  busy  day  for  Honora.  She  had  been 
superintending  the  house-cleaning  and  taking  rather 
an  aggressive  part  in  it  herself.  She  rejoiced  that  her 
strength  had  come  back  to  her,  and  she  felt  a  keen 
satisfaction  in  putting  it  forth  in  service  of  the  man 
who  had  taken  her  into  community  of  interest  with 
him  when,  as  he  had  once  put  it,  she  was  bankrupted 
of  all  that  had  made  her  think  herself  rich. 

Moreover,  she  loved  the  roomy,  bare  house,  with 
its  uncurtained  windows  facing  the  mountains,  and 
revealing  the  spectacles  of  the  day  and  night.  Be 
cause  of  them  she  had  learned  to  make  the  most  of 
her  sleepless  hours.  The  slow,  majestic  procession 
in  the  heavens,  the  hours  of  tumult  when  the  moon 
struggled  through  the  troubled  sky,  the  dawns  with 
their  swift,  wide-spreading  clarity,  were  the  finest 
diversions  she  ever  had  known. 

She  remembered  how,  in  the  old  days,  she  and 
David  had  patronized  the  unspeakably  puerile 
musical  comedies  under  the  impression  that  they 
"rested "  them.  Now,  she  was  able  to  imagine  noth 
ing  more  fatiguing. 

They  had  an  early  supper,  for  Karl  was  leaving 
for  a  day  or  two  in  Denver  and  had  to  be  driven  ten 
miles  to  the  station.  He  was  unusually  silent,  and 

324 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Honora  was  well  pleased  that  he  should  be  so,  for, 
though  she  had  kept  herself  so  busily  occupied  all 
the  day,  she  had  not  been  able  to  rid  herself  of  the 
feeling  that  a  storm  of  memories  was  waiting  to 
burst  upon  her.  The  feeling  had  grown  as  the  hours 
of  the  day  went  on,  and  she  at  once  dreaded  and 
longed  for  the  solitude  she  should  have  when  Karl 
was  gone.  She  was  relieved  to  find  that  the  little 
girls  were  weary  and  quite  ready  for  their  beds. 
She  watched  Karl  drive  away,  standing  at  the  door 
for  a  few  moments  till  she  heard  his  clear  voice 
calling  a  last  good-bye  as  the  station  wagon  swept 
around  the  pinon  grove;  then  she  locked  the  house 
and  went  to  her  own  room.  A  fire  had  been  laid  for 
her,  and  she  touched  a  match  to  the  kindling,  lighted 
her  lamp,  and  took  up  some  sewing.  But  she  found 
herself  too  weary  to  sew,  and,  moreover,  this  assail 
ant  of  recollection  was  upon  her  again. 

She  had  once  seen  the  Northern  lights  when  the 
many-hued  glory  seemed  to  be  poured  from  vast, 
invisible  pitchers,  till  it  spread  over  the  floor  of  hea 
ven  and  spilled  earthward.  Her  memories  had  come 
upon  her  like  that. 

Then  she  faced  the  fact  she  had  been  trying  all 
day  not  to  recognize. 

It  was  David's  birthday!  , 

She  admitted  it  now,  and  even  had  the  courage  to 
go  back  over  the  ways  they  had  celebrated  the  day 
in  former  years;  at  first  she  held  to  the  old  idea  that 
these  recollections  made  her  suffer,  but  presently 

325 


THE   PRECIPICE 

she  perceived  that  it  was  not  so.  Had  her  help  come 
from  the  hills,  as  Karl  had  told  her  it  would? 

She  sat  so  still  that  she  could  hear  the  ashes  fall 
ing  in  the  fireplace  —  so  still  that  the  ticking  of  her 
watch  on  the  dressing-table  teased  her  ears.  She 
seemed  to  be  listening  for  something  —  for  some 
thing  beautiful  and  solemn.  And  by  and  by  the 
thing  she  had  been  waiting  for  came. 

It  swept  into  the  house  as  if  all  the  doors  and 
windows  had  been  thrown  wide  to  receive  it.  It  was 
as  invisible  as  the  wind,  as  scentless  as  a  star,  as 
complete  as  birth  or  death.  It  was  peace  —  or 
forgiveness  —  or,  in  a  white  way,  perhaps  it  was 
love. 

Suddenly  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  David ! "  she  cried.  "  David !  Oh,  I  believe  I  un 
derstand!" 

She  went  to  her  desk,  and,  as  if  she  were  compelled, 
began  to  write.  Afterward  she  found  she  had  written 
this:  — 

"DEAR  DAVID:  — 

"It  is  your  birthday,  and  I,  who  am  so  used  to 
sending  you  a  present,  cannot  be  deterred  now.  Oh, 
David,  my  husband,  you  who  fathered  my  children,, 
you,  who,  in  spite  of  all,  belong  to  me,  let  me  tell 
you  how  I  have  at  last  come,  out  of  the  storm  of 
angers  and  torments  of  the  past  year,  into  a  shel 
tered  room  where  you  seem  to  sit  waiting  to  hear 
me  say,  '  I  forgive  you.' 

326 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"That  is  my  present  to  you  —  my  forgiveness. 
Take  it  from  me  with  lifted  hands  as  if  it  were  a 
sacrament;  feed  on  it,  for  it  is  holy  bread.  Now  we 
shall  both  be  at  peace,  shall  we  not?  You  will  for 
give  me,  too,  for  all  I  did  not  do. 

"We  are  willful  children,  all  of  us,  and  night  over 
takes  us  before  we  have  half  learned  our  lessons. 

"Oh,  David—" 

She  broke  off  suddenly.  Something  cold  seemed 
to  envelop  her  —  cold  as  a  crevasse  and  black  as 
death.  She  gave  a  strangled  cry,  wrenched  the  collar 
from  her  throat,  fighting  in  vain  against  the  mount 
ing  waves  that  overwhelmed  her. 

Long  afterward,  she  shuddered  up  out  of  her  un 
consciousness.  The  fire  had  burned  itself  out;  the 
lamp  was  sputtering  for  lack  of  oil.  Somewhere  in 
the  distance  a  coyote  called.  She  was  dripping  with 
cold  sweat,  and  had  hardly  strength  to  find  the 
thing  that  would  warm  her  and  to  get  off  her  clothes 
and  creep  into  bed. 

At  first  she  was  afraid  to  put  out  the  light.  It 
seemed  as  if,  should  she  do  so,  the  very  form  and 
substance  of  Terror  would  come  and  grip  her.  But 
after  a  time,  slowly,  wave  upon  wave,  the  sea  of 
Peace  rolled  over  her  —  submerging  her.  She  reached 
out  then  and  extinguished  the  light  and  let  herself 
sink  down,  down,  through  the  obliterating  waters 
of  sleep  —  waters  as  deep,  as  cold,  as  protecting  as 
the  sea. 

327 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"  Into  the  Eternal  Arms,"  she  breathed,  not  know 
ing  why. 

But  when  she  awakened  the  next  morning  in  re 
sponse  to  the  punctual  gong,  she  remembered  that 
she  had  said  that. 

"  Into  the  Eternal  Arms." 

She  came  down  to  breakfast  with  the  face  of  one 
who  has  eaten  of  the  sacred  bread  of  the  spirit. 

The  next  two  days  passed  vaguely.  A  gray  veil 
appeared  to  hang  between  her  and  the  realities,  and 
she  had  the  effect  of  merely  going  through  the  mo 
tions  of  life.  The  children  caused  her  no  trouble. 
They  were,  indeed,  the  most  normal  of  children,  and 
Mrs.  Hays,  their  old-time  nurse,  had  reduced  their 
days  to  an  agreeable  system.  Honora  derived  that 
peculiar  delight  from  them  which  a  mother  may  have 
when  she  is  not  obliged  to  be  the  bodily  servitor  and 
constant  attendant  of  her  children.  She  was  able  to 
feel  the  poetry  of  their  childhood,  seeing  them  as 
she  did  at  fortunate  and  picturesque  moments ;  and 
though  their  lives  were  literally  braided  into  her 
own,  —  were  the  golden  threads  in  her  otherwise 
dun  fabric  of  existence,  —  she  was  thankful  that  she 
did  not  have  the  task  of  caring  for  them.  It  would 
have  been  torture  to  have  been  tied  to  their  small 
needs  all  day  and  every  day.  She  liked  far  better  the 
heavier  work  she  did  about  the  house,  her  long  walks, 
her  rides  to  town,  and,  when  Karl  was  away,  her 
supervision  of  the  ranch.  Above  all,  there  was  her 

328 


THE   PRECIPICE 

work  at  the  village.  She  could  return  from  that  to 
the  children  for  refreshment  and  for  spiritual  illum 
ination.  In  the  purity  of  their  eyes,  in  the  liquid 
sweetness  of  their  voices,  in  their  adorable  grace  and 
caprice,  there  was  a  healing  force  beyond  her  power 
to  compute. 

During  these  days,  however,  her  pleasure  in  them 
was  dim,  though  sweet.  She  had  been  through  a 
mystic  experience  which  left  a  profound  influence 
upon  her,  and  she  was  too  much  under  the  spell  of  it 
even  to  make  an  effort  to  shake  it  off.  She  slept 
lightly  and  woke  often,  to  peer  into  the  velvet  black 
ness  of  the  night  and  to  listen  to  the  deep  silence. 
She  was  as  one  who  stands  apart,  the  viewer  of  some 
tremendous  but  uncomprehended  event. 

The  third  day  she  sent  the  horses  for  Karl,  and  as 
twilight  neared,  he  came  driving  home.  She  heard 
his  approach  and  threw  open  the  door  for  him.  He 
saw  her  with  a  halo  of  light  about  her,  curiously  en 
larged  and  glorified,  and  came  slowly  and  heavily 
toward  her,  holding  out  both  hands.  At  first  she 
thought  he  was  ill,  but  as  his  hands  grasped  hers, 
she  saw  that  he  was  not  bringing  a  personal  sorrow 
to  her  but  a  brotherly  compassion.  And  then  she 
knew  that  something  had  happened  to  David.  She 
read  his  mind  so  far,  almost  as  if  it  had  been  a  printed 
page,  and  she  might  have  read  further,  perhaps,  if  she 
had  waited,  but  she  cried  out:  — 

' '  What  is  it  ?    You  Ve  news  of  David  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  said.     "Come  in." 
329 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"You've  seen  the  papers?"  he  asked  when  they 
were  within  the  house.  She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  have  n't  sent  over  for  the  mail  since  you  left, 
Karl.  I  seemed  to  like  the  silence." 

"There's  silence  enough  in  all  patience!"  he  cried. 
"Sixteen  hundred  voices  have  ceased." 

"I  don't  understand." 

"The  Cyclops  has  gone  down  —  a  new  ship,  the 
largest  on  the  sea." 

"Why,  that  seems  impossible." 

"  Not  when  there  are  icebergs  floating  off  the  banks 
and  when  the  bergs  carry  submerged  knives  of  ice. 
One  of  them  gored  the  ship.  It  was  fatal." 

"How  terrible!"  For  a  second's  space  she  had 
forgotten  the  possible  application  to  her.  Then  the 
knowledge  came  rushing  back  upon  her. 

She  put  her  hands  over  her  heart  with  the  gesture 
of  one  wounded. 

' '  David  ?  "  she  gasped . 

Karl  nodded. 

"He  was  on  it  —  with  Mary.  They  were  coming 
back  to  America.  He  had  been  given  the  Norden 
prize,  as  you  know,  —  the  prize  you  earned  for  him. 
I  think  he  was  to  take  a  position  in  some  Eastern 
university.  He  and  Mary  had  gone  to  their  room, 
the  paper  says,  when  the  shock  came.  They  ran  out 
together,  half -dressed,  and  Mary  asked  a  steward 
if  there  was  anything  the  matter.  '  Yes,  madam, '  he 
said  quietly,  just  like  that,  '  I  believe  we  are  sinking.' 
You  '11  read  all  about  it  there  in  those  papers.  Mary 

330 


THE  PRECIPICE 
I 

was  interviewed.  Well,  they  lowered  the  boats. 
There  were  enough  for  about  a  third  of  the  passen 
gers.  They  had  made  every  provision  for  luxury,  but 
not  nearly  enough  for  safety.  The  men  helped  the 
women  into  the  boats  and  sent  them  away.  Then 
they  sat  down  together,  folded  their  arms,  and  died 
like  gentlemen,  with  the  good  musicians  heartening 
them  with  their  music  to  the  last.  The  captain  went 
down  with  his  ship,  of  course.  All  of  the  officers  did 
that.  Almost  all  of  the  men  did  it,  too.  It  was  very 
gallant  in  its  terrible  way,  and  David  was  among  the 
most  gallant.  The  papers  mention  him  particularly. 
He  worked  till  the  last  helping  the  others  off,  and 
then  he  sat  down  and  waited  for  the  end." 

Honora  turned  on  her  cousin  a  face  in  which  all 
the  candles  of  her  soul  were  lit. 

"Oh,  Karl,  how  wonderful !    How  beautiful ! " 

He  said  nothing  for  amazement. 

"In  that  half-hour,"  she  went  on,  speaking  with 
such  swiftness  that  he  could  hardly  follow  her,  "all 
his  thoughts  streamed  off  across  the  miles  of  sea  and 
land  to  me !  I  felt  the  warmth  of  them  all  about  me. 
It  was  myself  he  was  thinking  of.  He  came  back  to 
me,  his  wife!  I  was  alone,  waiting  for  something,  I 
could  n't  tell  what.  Then  I  remembered  it  was  his 
birthday,  and  that  I  should  be  sending  him  a  gift. 
So  I  sent  him  my  forgiveness.  I  wrote  a  letter,  but 
for  some  reason  I  have  not  sent  it.  It  is  here,  the 
letter ! "  She  drew  it  from  her  bosom.  "  See,  the  date 
and  hour  is  upon  it.  Read  it." 


THE   PRECIPICE 

Karl  arose  and  held  the  letter  in  a  shaking  hand. 
He  made  a  calculation. 

"The  moments  correspond,"  he  said.  "You  are 
right;  his  spirit  sought  yours." 

"And  then  the  —  the  drowning,  Karl.  I  felt  it  all, 
but  I  could  not  understand.  I  died  and  was  dead  for 
a  long  time,  but  I  came  up  again,  to  live.  Only  since 
then  life  has  been  very  curious.  I  have  felt  like  a 
ghost  that  missed  its  grave.  I  Ve  been  walking  around, 
pretending  to  live,  but  really  half  hearing  and  half  see 
ing,  and  waiting  for  you  to  come  back  and  explain." 

"  I  have  explained,"  said  Karl  with  infinite  gentle 
ness.  "Mary  is  saved.  She  was  taken  up  with 
others  by  the  Urbania,  and  friends  are  caring  for  her 
in  New  York.  She  gave  a  very  lucid  interview;  a 
feeling  one,  too.  She  lives,  but  the  man  she  ruined 
went  down,  for  her  sake." 

"No,"  said  Honora,  "he  went  down  for  my  sake. 
He  went  down  for  the  sake  of  his  ideals,  and  his 
ideals  were  mine.  Oh,  how  beautiful  that  I  have 
forgiven  him  —  and  how  wonderful  that  he  knew  it, 
and  that  I  — "  She  spoke  as  one  to  whom  a  great 
happiness  had  come.  Then  she  wavered,  reached 
out  groping  hands,  and  fell  forward  in  Karl's  arms. 

For  days  she  lay  in  her  bed.  She  had  no  desire  to 
arise.  She  seemed  to  dread  interruption  to  her  pas 
sionate  drama  of  emotion,  in  which  sorrow  and  joy 
were  combined  in  indeterminate  parts.  From  her 
window  she  could  see  the  snow-capped  peaks  of  the 

332 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Williston  range,  rising  with  immortal  and  changeful 
beauty  into  the  purple  heavens.  As  she  watched 
them  with  incurious  eyes,  marking  them  in  the  first 
light  of  the  day,  when  their  iridescence  made  them 
seem  as  impalpable  as  a  dream  of  heaven;  eyeing 
them  in  the  noon-height,  when  their  sides  were  the 
hue  of  ruddy  granite ;  watching  them  at  sunset  when 
they  faded  from  swimming  gold  to  rose,  from  rose  to 
purple,  they  seemed  less  like  mountains  than  like 
those  fair  and  fatal  bergs  of  the  Northern  Atlantic. 
She  had  read  of  them,  though  she  had  not  seen  them. 
She  knew  how  they  sloughed  from  the  inexhaustible 
ice-cap  of  Greenland's  bleak  continent  and  marched, 
stately  as  'an  army,  down  the  mighty  plain  of  the 
ocean.  Fair  beyond  word  were  they,  with  jeweled 
crevasses  and  mother-of-pearl  changefulness,  in 
domitable,  treacherous,  menacing.  Honora,  closing 
weary  eyes,  still  saw  them  sailing,  sailing,  white  as 
angels,  radiant  as  dawn,  changing,  changing,  lovely 
and  cold  as  death. 

Mind  and  gaze  were  fixed  upon  their  enchantment. 
She  would  not  think  of  certain  other  things  —  of 
that  incredible  catastrophe,  that  rent  ship,  crashing 
to  its  doom,  of  that  vast  company  tossed  upon  the 
sea,  of  those  cries  in  the  dark.  No,  she  shut  her  eyes 
and  her  ears  to  those  things !  They  seemed  to  be  the 
servitors  at  the  doors  of  madness,  and  she  let  them 
crook  their  fingers  at  her  in  vain.  Now  and  then, 
when  she  was  not  on  guard,  they  swarmed  upon  her, 
whispering  stories  of  black  struggle,  of  heart-break- 

333 


THE  PRECIPICE 

ing  separation  of  mother  and  child,  of  husband  and 
wife.  Sometimes  they  told  her  how  Mary  —  so 
luxurious,  so  smiling,  so  avid  of  warmth  and  food 
and  kisses  —  had  shivered  in  that  bleak  wind,  as  she 
sat  coatless,  torn  from  David's  sheltering  embrace. 
They  had  given  her  elfish  reminders  of  how  soft, 
how  pink,  how  perfumed  was  that  woman's  tender 
flesh.  Then  as  she  looked  the  blue  eyes  glazed  with 
agony,  the  supple  body  grew  rigid  with  cold,  and 
down,  down,  through  miles  of  water,  sank  the  man 
they  both  had  loved. 

No,  no,  it  was  better  to  watch  the  bergs,  those 
glistering,  fair,  white  ships  of  death!  Yes,  there 
from  the  window  she  seemed  to  see  them !  How  the 
sun  glorified  them!  Was  the  sun  setting,  then?  Had 
there  been  another  day? 

"To-morrow  and  to-morrow  and  to-morrow  — " 

Darkness  was  falling.  But  even  in  the  darkness 
she  saw  the  ice-ships  slipping  down  from  that  great 
frozen  waste,  along  the  glacial  rivers,  past  the  bleak 
lisiere,  into  the  bitter  sea,  and  on  down,  down  to 
meet  that  other  ship  —  that  ship  bearing  its  mighty 
burden  of  living  men  —  and  to  break  it  in  unequal 
combat. 

Oh,  could  she  never  sleep!  Would  those  white 
ships  never  reach  port! 

Did  she  hear  Karl  say  he  had  telegraphed  for  Kate 
Barrington?  But  what  did  it  matter?  Neither  Kate 
nor  Karl,  strong  and  kind  as  they  were,  could  stem  the 
tide  that  bore  those  ships  along  the  never-quiet  seas. 


XXVIII 

So  Kate  was  coming! 

He  had  cravenly  rebuffed  her,  and  she  had  borne 
the  rebuff  in  silence.  Yet  now  that  he  needed  her, 
she  was  coming.  Ah,  that  was  what  women  meant 
to  men.  They  were  created  for  the  comforting  of 
them.  He  always  had  known  it,  but  he  had  impiously 
doubted  them  —  doubted  Her.  Because  fortune  had 
turned  from  him,  he  had  turned  from  Her  —  from 
Kate  Harrington.  He  had  imagined  that  she  wanted 
more  than  he  could  give;  whereas,  evidently,  all  she 
ever  had  wanted  was  to  be  needed.  He  had  called. 
She  had  answered.  It  had  been  as  swift  as  teleg 
raphy  could  make  it.  And  now  he  was  driving  to 
the  station  to  meet  her. 

Life,  it  appeared,  was  just  as  simple  as  that.  A 
man,  lost  in  the  darkness,  could  cry  for  a  star  to 
guide  him,  and  it  would  come.  It  would  shine  mirac 
ulously  out  of  the  heavens,  and  his  path  would  be 
made  plain.  It  seemed  absurd  that  the  horses 
should  be  jogging  along  at  their  usual  pace  over  the 
familiar  road.  Why  had  they  not  grown  shining 
wings?  Why  was  the  old  station  wagon  not  trans 
formed,  by  the  mere  glory  of  its  errand,  into  a  crystal 
coach?  But,  no,  the  horses  went  no  faster  because 
they  were  going  on  this  world-changing  errand.  The 
resuscitated  village,  with  the  American  litter  heaped 

335 


THE   PRECIPICE 

on  the  Italian  dirt,  looked  none  the  less  slovenly 
because  She  was  coming  into  it  in  a  few  minutes. 
The  clock  kept  its  round;  the  sun  showed  its  usual 
inclination  toward  the  west.  But  notwithstanding 
this  torpidity,  She  was  coming,  and  that  day  stood 
apart  from  all  other  days. 

That  it  was  Honora's  desperate  need  which  she 
was  answering,  in  no  way  lessened  the  value  of  her 
response  to  him.  His  need  and  Honora's  were  in 
dissoluble  now;  it  was  he  who  had  called,  and  it  was 
not  to  Honora  alone  that  she  was  coming  with  heal 
ing  in  her  hands. 

He  saw  her  as  she  leaped  from  the  train,  —  tall, 
alert,  green-clad,  —  and  he  ran  forward,  sweeping 
his  Stetson  from  his  head.  Their  hands  met  — 
clung. 

"You!"  he  said  under  his  breath. 

She  laughed  into  his  eyes. 

"No,  you!"  she  retorted. 

He  took  her  bags  and  they  walked  side  by  side, 
looking  at  each  other  as  if  their  eyes  required  the  sight. 

"How  is  she?"  asked  Kate. 

"Very  bad." 

"What  is  it?" 

"The  doorway  to  madness." 

"You've  had  a  specialist?" 

"Yes.  He  wanted  to  take  her  to  a  sanatorium. 
I  begged  him  to  wait  —  to  let  you  try.  How  could  I 
let  her  go  out  from  my  door  to  be  cast  in  with  the 
lost?" 

336 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"I  suppose  it  was  David's  death  that  caused 
it." 

"Oh,  yes.   What  else  could  it  be?" 

"Then  she  loved  him  —  to  the  end." 

"And  after  it,  I  am  sure." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  station  wagon  and  helped 
her  in;  then  brought  her  luggage  on  his  own  shoul 
der. 

"Oh,"  she  cried  in  distress.  "Do  you  have  to  be 
your  own  stevedore?  I  don't  like  to  have  you  doing 
that  for  me." 

"Out  here  we  wait  on  ourselves,"  he  replied  when 
he  had  tumbled  the  trunk  into  the  wagon.  He  seated 
himself  beside  her  as  if  he  were  doing  an  accustomed 
thing,  and  she,  too,  felt  as  if  she  had  been  there  be 
side  him  many  times  before. 

As  they  entered  the  village,  he  said :  — 

"You  must  note  my  rowdy  town.  Never  was 
there  such  a  place  —  such  organized  success  built 
on  so  much  individual  failure.  From  boss  to  water- 
boy  we  were  failures  all;  so  we  understood  each 
other.  We  have  n't  sworn  brotherhood,  but  we're 
pulling  together.  Some  of  us  had  known  no  law, 
and  most  of  us  had  a  prejudice  against  it,  but  now 
we're  making  our  own  laws  and  we  rather  enjoy 
the  process.  We've  made  the  town  and  the  mines 
our  own  cause,  so  what  is  the  use  of  playing  the 
traitor?  Some  of  us  are  short-stake  men  habitually 
and  constitutionally.  Very  well,  say  we,  let  us  look 
at  the  facts.  Since  there  are  short-stake  men  in  the 

337 


THE  PRECIPICE 

world,  why  not  make  allowances  for  them?  Use 
their  limited  powers  of  endurance  and  concentration, 
then  let  'em  off  to  rest  up.  If  there  are  enough  short- 
stake  men  around,  some  one  will  always  be  working. 
We  find  it  works  well." 

"Have  you  many  women  in  your  midst?" 

"At  first  we  had  very  few.  Just  some  bedraggled 
wives  and  a  few  less  responsible  ladies  with 
magenta  feathers  in  their  hats.  At  least,  two  of 
them  had,  and  the  magenta  feather  came  to  be  a 
badge.  But  they  Ve  disappeared  —  the  feathers, 
not  the  ladies.  Honora  had  a  hand  in  it.  I  think 
she  pulled  off  one  marriage.  She  seemed  to  think 
there  were  arguments  in  favor  of  the  wedding  cere 
mony.  But,  mind  you,  she  did  n't  want  any  of  the 
poor  women  to  go  because  they  were  bad.  We  are 
sinners  all  here.  Stay  and  take  a  chance,  that's  our 
motto.  It  is  n't  often  you  can  get  a  good  woman  like 
Honora  to  hang  up  a  sign  like  that." 

"Honora  could  n't  have  done  it  once,"  said  Kate. 
"But  think  of  all  she's  learned." 

"Learned?  Yes.  And  I,  too.  I've  been  learning 
my  lessons,  too,  —  they  were  long  and  hard  and  I 
sulked  at  some  of  them,  but  I'm  more  tractable 
now." 

"I  had  my  own  hard  conning,"  Kate  said  softly. 
"You  never  could  have  done  what  I  did,  Mr. 
Wander.  You  could  n't  have  been  cruel  to  an  old 
father." 

"Honora  has  made  all  that  clear  to  me,"  said 
338 


THE   PRECIPICE 

Karl  with  compassion.  "When  we  are  fighting  for 
liberty  we  forget  the  sufferings  of  the  enemy." 

There  was  a  little  pause.  Then  Karl  spoke. 

"But  I  forgot  to  begin  at  the  beginning  in  telling 
you  about  my  made-over  mining  town.  Yet  you 
seemed  to  know  about  it." 

"Oh,  I  read  about  it  in  the  papers.  Your  experi 
ment  is  famous.  All  of  the  people  I  am  associated 
with,  the  welfare  workers  and  sociologists,  are  im 
mensely  interested  in  it.  That 's  one  of  the  problems 
now  —  how  to  use  the  hobo,  how  to  get  him  back 
into  an  understanding  of  regulated  communities." 

"Put  him  in  charge,"  laughed  Karl.  "The  an 
swer's  easy.  Treat  him  like  a  fellow-man.  Don't 
annoy  him  by  an  exhibition  of  your  useless  virtues." 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Kate. 

They  turned  their  backs  on  the  straggling  town 
and  faced  the  peaks.  Presently  they  skirted  the 
Williston  River  which  thundered  among  boulders 
and  raged  on  toward  the  low-lying  valley.  From 
above,  the  roar  of  the  pines  came  to  them,  rever 
berant  and  melancholy. 

"What  sounds!  What  sounds!"  cried  Kate. 

"The  mountains  breathing,"  answered  Wander. 

He  drove  well,  and  he  knew  the  road.  It  was  a 
dangerous  road,  which,-  ever  ascending,  skirted 
sharp  declivities  and  rounded  buttressed  rocks. 
Kate,  prairie-reared,  could  not  "escape  the  inevi 
table  thrill,"  but  she  showed,  and  perhaps  felt,  no 
fear.  She  let  the  matter  rest  with  him  —  this  man 

339 


THE  PRECIPICE 

with  great  shoulders  and  firm  hands,  who  knew  the 
primitive  art  of  "waiting  on  himself."  Their  brief 
speech  sufficed  them  for  a  time,  and  now  they  sat 
silent,  well  content.  The  old,  tormenting  question 
as  to  his  relations  with  Honora  did  not  intrude  itself. 
It  was  swept  out  of  sight  like  flotsam  in  the  plente 
ous  stream  of  present  content. 

They  swung  upon  a  purple  mesa,  and  in  the  dis 
tance  Kate  saw  a  light  which  she  felt  was  shining 
from  the  window  of  his  home. 

"It's  just  as  I  thought  it  would  be,"  she  said. 

"Perhaps  you  are  just  the  way  it  thought  you 
would  be,"  he  replied.  "Perhaps  the  soul  of  a  place 
waits  and  watches  for  the  right  person,  just  as  we 
human  beings  wander  about  searching  for  the  right 
spot." 

"7'w  suited,"  affirmed  Kate.  "I  hope  the  mesa 
is." 

"I  know  it  well  and  I  can  answer  for  it." 

The  road  continued  to  mount ;  they  entered  the 
pinon  grove  and  rode  in  aromatic  dusk  for  a  while, 
and  when  they  emerged  they  were  at  the  door 
way. 

He  lifted  her  down  and  held  her  with  a  gesture  as 
if  he  had  something  to  say. 

"  It 's  about  my  letter,"  he  ventured.  "  You  knew 
very  well  it  was  n't  that  I  did  n't  want  you  to  write. 
But  my  life  was  getting  tangled  —  I  was  n't  willing 
to  involve  you  in  any  way  in  the  debris.  I  could  n't 
be  sure  that  letters  sent  me  would  always  reach  my 

340 


THE   PRECIPICE 

hands.  Worst  of  all,  I  accused  myself  of  unworthi- 
ness.  I  do  so  still." 

" I'm  not  one  who  worries  much  about  worthiness 
or  unworthiness,"  she  said.  "Each  of  us  is  worthy 
and  unworthy.  But  I  thought — " 

"What?" 

"  I  was  confused.  Honora  said  I  was  to  congratu 
late  you — and  her.  I  did  n't  know  — " 

He  stared  incredulously. 

"You  did  n't  know — "  He  broke  off,  too,  then 
laughed  shortly.  "I  wish  you  had  known,"  he 
added.  "  I  would  like  to  think  that  you  never  could 
misunderstand." 

She  felt  herself  rebuked.  He  opened  the  door  for 
her  and  she  stepped  for  the  first  time  across  the 
threshold  of  his  house. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Wander,  sitting  in  his  study  at 
the  end  of  the  upper  hall,  saw  his  guest  hastening 
toward  Honora's  room.  She  wore  a  plain  brown 
house  dress  and  looked  uniformed  and  ready  for 
service.  She  did  not  speak  to  him,  but  hastened 
down  the  corridor  and  let  herself  into  that  solemn 
chamber  where  Honora  Fulham  lay  with  wide- 
staring  eyes  gazing  mountainward.  That  Honora 
was  in  some  cold,  still,  and  appalling  place  it  took 
Kate  but  a  moment  to  apprehend.  She  could 
hardly  keep  from  springing  to  her  as  if  to  snatch  her 
from  impending  doom,  but  she  forced  all  panic  from 
her  manner. 

34i  - 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"Kate's  come,"  she  said,  leaning  down  and  kiss 
ing  those  chilly  lips  with  a  passion  of  pity  and  reas 
surance.  "She's  come  to  stay,  sister  Honora,  and 
to  drive  everything  bad  away  from  you.  Give  her  a 
kiss  if  you  are  glad." 

Did  she  feel  an  answering  salute?  She  could  not 
be  sure.  She  moved  aside  and  watched.  Those  fixed, 
vision-seeing  eyes  were  upon  the  snow-capped  peaks 
purpling  in  the  decline  of  the  day. 

"What  is  it  you  see,  sister? "  she  asked.  "  Is  there 
something  out  there  that  troubles  you?" 

Honora  lifted  a  tragic  hand  and  pointed  to  those 
darkening  snows. 

"See  how  the  bergs  keep  floating!"  she  whis 
pered.  "They  float  slowly,  but  they  are  on  their 
way.  By  and  by  they  will  meet  the  ship.  Then 
everything  will  be  crushed  or  frozen.  I  try  to  make 
them  stay  still,  but  they  won't  do  it,  and  I'm  so 
tired  —  oh,  I  'm  so  terribly  tired,  Kate." 

Kate's  heart  leaped.  She  had,  at  any  rate,  recog 
nized  her. 

' '  They  really  are  still ,  Honora, ' '  she  cried .  ' '  Truly 
they  are.  I  am  looking  at  them,  and  I  can  see  that 
they  are  still.  They  are  not  bergs  at  all,  but  only 
your  good  mountains,  and  by  and  by  all  of  that  ice 
and  snow  will  melt  and  flowers  will  be  growing  there." 

She  pulled  down  the  high-rolled  shades  at  the 
windows  with  a  decisive  gesture. 

"  But  I  must  have  them  up,"  cried  Honora,  begin 
ning  to  sob.  "  I  have  to  keep  watching  them." 

342 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"It's  time  to  have  in  the  lamps,"  declared  Kate; 
and  went  to  the  door  to  ask  for  them. 

4 'And  tea,  too,  please,  Mrs.  Hays,"  she  called; 
"quite  hot." 

"We've  been  keeping  her  very  still,"  warned 
Wander,  rejoicing  in  Kate's  cheerful  voice,  yet  dread 
ing  the  effect  of  it  on  his  cousin. 

"It's  been  too  still  where  her  soul  has  been  dwell 
ing,"  Kate  replied  in  a  whisper.  "  Can't  you  see  she 's 
on  those  bitter  seas  watching  for  the  ice  to  crush 
David's  ship?  It 's  not  yet  madness,  only  a  profound 
dream  —  a  recurring  hallucination.  We  must  break 
it  up  —  oh,  we  must ! " 

She  carried  in  the  lamps  when  they  came,  placing 
them  where  their  glow  would  not  trouble  those 
burning  eyes;  and  when  Mrs.  Hays  brought  the 
tea  and  toast,  whispering,  "She'll  take  nothing," 
Kate  lifted  her  friend  in  her  determined  arms,  and, 
having  made  her  comfortable,  placed  the  tray  be 
fore  her. 

"  For  old  sake's  sake,  Honora,"  she  said.  "  Come, 
let  us  play  we  are  girls  again,  back  at  Foster,  drink 
ing  our  tea!" 

Mechanically,  Honora  lifted  the  cup  and  sipped 
it.  When  Kate  broke  pieces  of  the  toast  and  set 
them  before  her,  she  ate  them. 

"You  are  telling  me  nothing  about  the  babies," 
Kate  reproached  her  finally.  "Mayn't  we  have 
them  in  for  a  moment?" 

"I  don't  think  they  ought  to  come  here,"  said 
343 


THE   PRECIPICE 

Honora  faintly.    "  It  does  n't  seem  as  if  they  ought 
to  be  brought  to  such  a  place  as  this." 

But  Kate  commanded  their  presence,  and,  having 
softly  fondled  them,  dropped  them  on  Honora's  bed 
and  let  them  crawl  about  there.  They  swarmed  up 
to  their  mother  and  hung  upon  her,  patting  her 
cheeks,  and  investigating  the  use  of  eyelids  and  of 
ropes  of  hair.  But  when  they  could  not  provoke  her 
to  play,  they  began  to  whimper. 

"Honora,"  said  Kate  sharply,  "you  must  laugh 
at  them  at  once!  They  must  n't  go  away  without  a 
kiss." 

So  Honora  dragged  herself  from  those  green 
waters  beyond  the  fatal  Banks,  half  across  the  con 
tinent  to  the  little  children  at  her  side,  and  held  them 
for  a  moment  —  the  two  of  them  at  once  —  in  her 
embrace. 

"But  I'm  so  tired,  Kate,"  she  said  wearily. 

"  Rest,  then,"  said  Kate.  "  Rest.  But  it  would  n't 
have  been  right  to  rest  without  saying  good-night 
to  the  kiddies,  would  it?  A  mother  has  to  think  of 
that,  has  n't  she?  They  need  you  so  dreadfully, 
you  see." 

She  slipped  the  extra  pillows  from  beneath  the 
heavy  head,  and  stood  a  moment  by  the  bedside  in 
silence  as  if  she  would  impress  the  fact  of  her  pro 
tection  upon  that  stricken  heart  and  brain. 

"  It  is  safe,  here,  Honora,"  she  said  softly.  "  Love 
and  care  are  all  about  you.  No  harm  shall  come  near 
you.  Do  you  believe  that?" 

344 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Honora  looked  at  her  from  beneath  heavy  lids, 
then  slowly  let  her  eyes  close.  Kate  walked  to  the 
window  and  waited.  At  first  Honora's  body  was 
convulsed  with  nervous  spasms,  but  little  by  little 
they  ceased.  Honora  slept.  Kate  threw  wide  the 
windows,  extinguished  the  light,  and  crept  from 
the  room,  not  ill-satisfied  with  her  first  conflict  with 
the  dread  enemy. 

Karl  was  waiting  for  her  in  the  corridor  when  she 
came  from  Honora's  room,  and  he  caught  both  of 
her  hands  in  his. 

"You're  cold  with  horror!"  he  said.  "What  a 
thing  that  is  to  see!" 

"But  it  is  n't  going  to  last," protested  Kate  with 
a  quivering  accent.  "We  can't  have  it  last." 

"Come  into  the  light,"  he  urged.  "Supper  is 
waiting." 

He  led  her  down  the  stairs  and  into  the  simple 
dining-room.  The  table  was  laid  for  two  "before  a 
leaping  blaze.  There  was  no  other  light  save  that 
of  two  great  candles  in  sticks  of  wrought  bronze. 
The  room  was  bare  but  beautiful — so  seemly  were  its 
proportions,  so  fitted  to  its  use  its  quiet  furnishings. 

He  placed  her  chair  where  she  could  feel  the  glow 
and  see,  through  the  wide  window,  a  crescent  moon 
mounting  delicately  into  the  clear  sky.  There  was 
game  and  salad,  custard  and  coffee  —  a  charming 
feast.  Mrs.  Hays  came  and  went  quietly  serving 
them.  Karl  said  little.  He  was  content  with  the 

345 


THE  PRECIPICE 

essential  richness  of  the  moment.  It  was  as  if  Destiny 
had  distilled  this  hour  for  him,  giving  it  to  him  to 
quaff.  He  was  grave,  but  he  did  not  resent  her  sor 
rowfulness.  Sorrow,  he  observed,  might  have  as 
sweet  a  flavor  as  joy.  It  did  not  matter  by  what 
name  the  present  hour  was  called.  It  was  there  —  he 
rested  in  it  as  in  a  state  of  being  which  had  been 
appointed  —  a  goal  toward  which  he  had  been 
journeying. 

"What's  to  be  done?"  he  asked. 

"I've  been  thinking,"  said  Kate,  "that  we  had 
better  move  her  from  that  room.  Is  there  none  from 
which  no  mountains  are  visible?  She  ought  not  to 
have  the  continual  reminder  of  those  icebergs." 

"Why  did  n't  I  think  of  that?"  he  cried  with 
vexation.  "That  shows  how  stupid  a  man  can  be. 
Certainly  we  have  such  a  room  as  you  wish.  It  looks 
over  the  barnyard.  It 's  cheerful  but  noisy.  You  can 
hear  the  burros  and  the  chickens  and  pigs  and  calves 
and  babies  all  day  long." 

" It's  precisely  what  she  needs.  Her  thoughts  are 
the  things  to  fear,  and  I  know  of  no  way  to  break 
those  up  except  by  crowding  others  in.  Is  the  room 
pleasant  —  gay  ?  " 

"No  —  hardly  clean,  I  should  say.  But  we  can 
work  on  it  like  fiends." 

"Let's  do  it,  then, —  put  in  chintz,  pictures, 
flowers,  books,  a  jar  of  goldfish,  a  cage  of  finches,  — 
anything  that  will  make  her  forget  that  terrible 
white  procession  of  bergs." 

346  . 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"You  think  it  is  n't  too  late?  You  think  we  can 
save  her?" 

"I  won't  admit  anything  else,"  declared  Kate. 

The  wind  began  to  rise.  It  came  rushing  from  far 
heights  and  moaned  around  the  house.  The  silence 
yielded  to  this  mournful  sound,  yet  kept  its  essen 
tial  quality. 

"It's  a  wild  place,"  said  Kate;  "wilder  than  any 
place  I  have  been  in  before.  But  it  seems  secure.  I 
find  it  hard  to  believe  that  you  have  been  in  danger 
here." 

"I  am  in  danger  now,"  said  Karl.  "Much  worse 
danger  than  I  was  in  when  the  poor  excited  dagoes 
were  threatening  me." 

"What  is  your  danger?"  asked  Kate. 

She  was  incapable  of  coquetry  after  that  experi 
ence  in  Honora's  room;  nor  did  the  noble  solitude 
of  the  place  permit  the  thought  of  an  excursion 
into  the  realms  of  any  sort  of  dalliance.  Moreover, 
though  Karl's  words  might  have  led  her  to  think  of 
him  as  ready  to  play  with  a  sentimental  situation, 
the  essential  loftiness  of  his  gaze  forbade  her  to 
entertain  the  thought. 

"  I  am  in  danger,"  he  said  gravely,  "of  experienc 
ing  a  happiness  so  great  that  I  shall  never  again  be 
satisfied  with  life  under  less  perfect  conditions.  Can 
you  imagine  how  the  fresh  air  seems  to  a  man  just 
released  from  prison?  Well,  life  has  a  tang  like  that 
for  me  now.  I  tell  you,  I  have  been  a  discouraged 
man.  It  looked  to  me  as  if  all  of  the  things  I  had 

347 


THE   PRECIPICE 

been  fighting  for  throughout  my  manhood  were 
going  to  ruin.  I  saw  my  theories  shattered,  my  for 
tune  disappearing,  my  reputation,  as  the  successful 
manipulator  of  other  men's  money,  being  lost.  I  Ve 
been  looked  upon  as  a  lucky  man  and  a  reliable  one 
out  here  in  Colorado.  They  swear  by  you  or  at  you 
out  in  this  part  of  the  country,  and  I  Ve  been  accus 
tomed  to  having  them  count  on  me.  I  even  had 
some  political  expectations,  and  was  justified  in 
them,  I  imagine.  I  had  an  idea  I  might  go  to  the 
state  legislature  and  then  take  a  jump  to  Washing 
ton.  Well,  it  was  a  soap-bubble  dream,  of  course.  I 
lost  out.  This  tatterdemalion  crew  of  mine  is  all 
there  is  left  of  my  cohorts.  I  suppose  I  'm  looked  on 
now  as  a  wild  experimenter." 

"Would  it  seem  that  way  to  men?"  asked  Kate, 
surprised.  "To  take  what  lies  at  hand  and  make 
use  of  it — to  win  with  a  broken  sword — that  strikes 
me  as  magnificent." 

She  forgot  to  put  a  guard  on  herself  for  a  moment 
and  let  her  admiration,  her  deep  confidence  in  him, 
shine  from  her  eyes.  She  saw  him  whiten,  saw  a 
look  of  almost  terrible  happiness  in  his  eyes,  and 
withdrew  her  gaze.  She  could  hear  him  breathing 
deeply,  but  he  said  nothing.  There  fell  upon  them 
a  profound  and  wonderful  silence  which  held  when 
they  had  arisen  and  were  sitting  before  his  hearth. 
They  were  alone  with  elemental  things — night,  si 
lence,  wind,  a'nd  fire.  They  had  the  essentials,  roof 
and  food,  clothing  and  companionship.  Back  and 

348 


THE   PRECIPICE 

forth  between  them  flashed  the  mystic  currents  of 
understanding.  A  happiness  such  as  neither  had 
known  suffused  them. 

When  they  said  "good-night,"  each  made  the  dis 
covery  that  the  simple  word  has  occult  and  beauti 
ful  meanings. 


XXIX 

AT  the  end  of  a  week  Honora  showed  a  decided 
change  for  the  better.  The  horror  had  gone  out  of 
her  face ;  she  ate  without  persuasion ;  she  slept  briefly 
but  often.  The  conclusion  of  a  fortnight  saw  her  still 
sad,  but  beyond  immediate  danger  of  melancholy. 
She  began  to  assume  some  slight  responsibility 
toward  the  children,  and  she  loved  to  have  them 
playing  about  her,  although  she  soon  wearied  of 
them. 

Kate  had  decided  not  to  go  back  to  Chicago  until 
her  return  from  California.  She  was  to  speak  to  the 
Federation  of  Women's  Clubs  which  met  at  Los 
Angeles,  and  she  proposed  taking  Honora  with  her. 
Honora  was  not  averse  if  Kate  and  Karl  thought  it 
best  for  her.  The  babies  were  to  remain  safe  at  home. 

"I  would  n't  dare  experiment  with  babies,"  said 
Kate.  "At  least,  not  with  other  people's." 

"You  surely  would  n't  experiment  with  your  own, 
ma'am!"  cried  the  privileged  Mrs.  Hays. 

"Oh,  I  might,"  Kate  insisted.  "  If  I  had  babies  of 
my  own,  I  'd  like  them  to  be  hard,  brown  little  sav 
ages  —  the  sort  you  could  put  on  donkey-back  or 
camel-back  and  take  anywhere." 

Mrs.  Hays  shook  her  head  at  the  idea  of  camels.  It 
hardly  sounded  Christian,  and  certainly  it  in  no  way 
met  her  notion  of  the  need  of  infants. 

350 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"  Mrs.  Browning  writes  about  taking  her  baby  to  a 
mountain- top  not  far  from  the  stars,"  Kate  went  on. 
"They  rode  donkey-back,  I  believe.  Personally, 
however,  I  should  prefer  the  camel.  For  one  thing, 
you  could  get  more  babies  on  his  back." 

Mrs.  Hays  threw  a  glance  at  her  mistress  as  if  to 
say:  "Is  it  proper  for  a  young  woman  to  talk  like 
this?" 

The  young  woman  in  question  said  many  things 
which,  according  to  the  always  discreet  and  sensible 
Mrs.  Hays,  were  hardly  to  be  commended. 

There  was,  for  example,  the  evening  she  had  stood 
in  the  westward  end  of  the  veranda  and  called :  — 

"Archangels!  Come  quick  and  see  them!" 

The  summons  was  so  stirring  that  they  all  ran,  — 
even  Honora,  who  was  just  beginning  to  move  about 
the  house,  —  but  Wander  reached  Kate's  side  first. 

"She's  right,  Honora,"  he  announced.  "It  is 
archangels  —  a  whole  party  of  them.  Come,  see!" 

But  it  had  been  nothing  save  a  sunset  rather 
brighter  than  usual,  with  wing-like  radiations. 

"Pshaw!"  said  Mrs.  Hays  confidentially  to  the 
cook. 

"  Should  n't  you  think  they'd  burn  up  with  all  that 
flaming  crimson  on  them?"  Kate  cried.  "And,  oh, 
their  golden  hair!  Or  does  that  belong  to  the  Damo- 
sel?  Probably  she  is  leaning  over  the  bar  of  heaven 
at  this  minute." 

In  Mrs.  Hays's  estimation,  the  one  good  thing 
about  all  such  talk  was  that  Mrs.  Fulham  seemed  to 

35i 


THE   PRECIPICE 

like  it.  Sometimes  she  smiled ;  and  she  hung  upon  the 
arm  of  her  friend  and  looked  at  her  as  if  wondering 
how  one  could  be  so  young  and  strong  and  gay.  Mr. 
Wander,  too,  seemed,  never  tired  of  listening;  and 
the  way  that  letters  trailed  after  this  young  woman 
showed  her  that  a  number  —  quite  an  astonishingly 
large  number  —  of  persons  were  pleased  to  whet  their 
ideas  on  her.  Clarinda  Hays  decided  that  she  would 
like  to  try  it  herself;  so  one  morning  when  she  sat  on 
the  veranda  watching  the  slumbers  of  the  little  girls 
in  their  hammocks,  and  Miss  Harrington  sat  near  at 
hand  fashioning  a  blouse  for  Honora's  journey,  she 
ventured :  — 

"You're  a  suffragette,  ain't  you,  Miss?" 

"Why,  yes,"  admitted  Kate.  "I  suppose  I  am. 
I  believe  in  suffrage  for  women,  at  any  rate." 

"Well,  what  do  you  make  of  all  them  carryings- 
on  over  there  in  England,  ma'am?  You  don't  ap 
prove  of  acid-throwing  and  window-breaking  and 
cutting  men's  faces  with  knives,  do  you?"  She 
looked  at  Kate  with  an  almost  poignant  anxiety, 
her  face  twitching  a  little  with  her  excitement. 
"A  decent  woman  could  n't  put  her  stamp  on  that 
kind  o'  thing." 

"  But  the  puzzling  part  of  it  all  is,  Mrs.  Hays,  that 
it  appears  to  be  decent  women  who  are  doing  it. 
Moreover,  it 's  not  an  impulse  with  them  but  a  plan. 
That  rather  sets  one  thinking,  does  n't  it?  You  see, 
it's  a  sort  of  revolution.  Revolutions  have  got  us 
almost  everything  we  have  that  is  really  worth  while 

352 


THE  PRECIPICE 

in  the  way  of  personal  liberty;  but  I  don't  suppose 
any  of  them  seemed  very  '  decent'  to  the  non-com 
batants  who  were  looking  on.  Then,  too,  you  have 
to  realize  that  women  are  very  much  handicapped  in 
conducting  a  fight." 

"What  have  they  got  to  fight  against,  I  should  like 
to  know?"  demanded  Mrs.  Hays,  dropping  her  sew 
ing  and  grasping  the  arms  of  her  chair  in  her  indig 
nation. 

"Well,"  said  Kate,  "I  fancy  we  American  women 
have  n't  much  idea  of  all  that  the  Englishwomen  are 
called  upon  to  resent.  I  do  know,  though,  that  an 
English  husband  of  whatever  station  thinks  that  he 
is  the  commander,  and  that  he  feels  at  liberty  to 
address  his  wife  as  few  American  husbands  would 
think  of  doing.  It 's  quite  allowed  them  to  beat  their 
wives  if  they  are  so  minded.  I  hope  that  not  many  of 
them  are  minded  to  do  anything  of  the  kind,  but  I 
feel  very  sure  that  women  are  'kept  in  their  place' 
over  there.  So,  as  they've  been  hectored  them 
selves,  they've  taken  up  hectoring  tactics  in  retalia 
tion.  They  demand  a  share  in  the  government  and 
the  lawmaking.  They  want  to  have  a  say  about  the 
schools  and  the  courts  of  justice.  If  men  were  fight 
ing  for  some  new  form  of  liberty,  we  should  think 
them  heroic.  Why  should  we  think  women  silly  for 
doing  the  same  thing?" 

"  It  won't  get  them  anywhere,"  affirmed  Clarinda 
Hays.  "  It  won't  do  for  them  what  the  old  way  of 
behaving  did  for  them,  Miss.  Now,  who,  I  should 

353 


THE  PRECIPICE 

like  to  know,  does  a  young  fellow,  dying  off  in  for 
eign  parts,  turn  his  thoughts  to  in  his  last  moments? 
Why,  to  his  good  mother  or  his  nice  sweetheart! 
You  don't  suppose  that  men  are  going  to  turn  their 
dying  thoughts  to  any  such  screaming,  kicking  har 
ridans  as  them  suffragettes  over  there  in  England, 
do  you?" 

Kate  heard  a  chuckle  beyond  the  door  —  the  dis 
respectful  chuckle,  as  she  took  it,  of  the  master  of 
the  house.  It  armed  her  for  the  fray. 

"  I  don't  think  the  militant  women  are  doing  these 
things  to  induce  men  to  feel  tenderly  toward  them, 
Mrs.  Hays.  I  don't  believe  they  care  just  now 
whether  the  men  feel  tenderly  toward  them  or  not. 
Women  have  been  low- voiced  and  sweet  and  docile 
for  a  good  many  centuries,  but  it  has  n't  gained  them 
the  right  to  claim  their  own  children,  or  to  stand  up 
beside  men  and  share  their  higher  responsibilities 
and  privileges.  I  don't  like  the  manner  of  warfare, 
myself.  While  I  could  die  at  the  stake  if  it  would  do 
any  good,  I  could  n't  break  windows  and  throw  acid. 
For  one  thing,  it  does  n't  seem  to  me  quite  logical, 
as  the  damage  is  inflicted  on  the  property  of  persons 
who  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  case.  But,  of  course, 
I  can't  be  sure  that,  after  the  fight  is  won,  future  gen 
erations  will  not  honor  the  women  who  forgot  their 
personal  preferences  and  who  made  the  fight  in  the 
only  way  they  could." 

"You're  such  a  grand  talker,  Miss,  that  it's  hard 
running  opposite  to  you,  but  I  was  brought  up  to 

354 


THE   PRECIPICE 

think  that  a  woman  ought  to  be  as  near  an  angel  as 
she  could  be.  I  never  answered  my  husband  back, 
no  matter  what  he  said  to  me,  and  I  moved  here  and 
there  to  suit  him.  I  was  always  waiting  for  him  at 
home,  and  when  he  got  there  I  stood  ready  to  do  for 
him  in  any  way  I  could.  We  was  happy  together, 
Miss,  and  when  he  was  dying  he  said  that  I  had  been 
a  good  wife.  Them  words  repaid  me,  Miss,  as  having 
my  own  way  never  could." 

Clarinda  Hays  had  grown  fervid.  There  were 
tears  in  her  patient  eyes,  and  her  face  was  frankly 
broken  with  emotion. 

Kate  permitted  a  little  silence  to  fall.  Then  she 
said  gently :  — 

"  I  can  see  it  is  very  sweet  to  you —  that  memory 
— very  sweet  and  sacred.  I  don't  wonder  you  treas 
ure  it." 

She  let  the  subject  lie  there  and  arose  presently 
and,  in  passing,  laid  her  firm  brown  hand  on  Mrs. 
Hays's  work-worn  one. 

Wander  was  in  the  sitting-room  and  as  she  entered 
it  he  motioned  her  to  get  her  hat  and  sweater.  She 
did  so  silently  and  accepted  from  him  the  alpenstock 
he  held  out  to  her. 

"  Is  it  right  to  leave  Honora?  "  he  asked  when  they 
were  beyond  hearing.  "  I  had  little  or  nothing  to  do 
down  in  town,  and  it  occurred  to  me  that  we  might 
slip  away  for  once  and  go  adventuring." 

"Oh,  Honora 's  particularly  well  this  morning. 
She 's  been  reading  a  little,  and  after  she  has  rested 

355 


THE   PRECIPICE 

she  is  going  to  try  to  sew.  Not  that  she  can  do  much, 
but  it  means  that  she's  taking  an  interest  again." 

"Ah,  that  does  me  good!  What  a  nightmare  it's 
been!  We  seem  to  have  had  one  nightmare  after 
another,  Honora  and  I." 

They  turned  their  steps  up  the  trail  that  mounted 
westward. 

"It  follows  this  foothill  for  a  way,"  said  Wander, 
striding  ahead,  since  they  could  not  walk  side  by 
side.  "Then  it  takes  that  level  up  there  and  strikes 
the  mountain.  It  gdes  on  over  the  pass." 

"And  where  does  it  end?  Why  was  it  made?" 

"I'm  not  quite  sure  where  it  ends.  But  it  was 
made  because  men  love  to  climb." 

She  gave  a  throaty  laugh,  crying,  "I  might  have 
known ! "  for  answer,  and  he  led  on,  stopping  to  assist 
her  when  the  way  was  broken  or  unusually  steep, 
and  she,  less  accustomed  but  throbbing  with  the  joy 
of  it,  followed. 

They  reached  an  irregular  "bench"  of  the  moun 
tain,  and  rested  there  on  a  great  boulder.  Below 
them  lay  the  ranch  amid  its  little  hills,  dust-of-gold 
in  hue. 

"I  have  dreamed  countless  times  of  trailing  this 
path  with  you,"  he  said. 

"Then  you  have  exhausted  the  best  of  the  experi 
ence  already.  What  equals  a  dream?  Does  n't  it 
exceed  all  possible  fact?" 

"  I  think  you  know  very  well,"  he  answered,  "that 
this  is  more  to  me  than  any  dream." 

356 


THE   PRECIPICE 

An  eagle  lifted  from  a  tree  near  at  hand  and  sailed 
away  with  confidence,  the  master  of  the  air. 

"  I  don't  wonder  men  die  trying  to  imitate  him," 
breathed  Kate,  wrapt  in  the  splendor  of  his  flight. 
"They  are  the  little  brothers  of  Icarus." 

"I  always  hope,"  replied  Wander,  "when  I  hear 
of  an  aviator  who  has  been  killed,  that  he  has  had  at 
least  one  perfect  flight,  when  he  soared  as  high  as  he 
wished  and  saw  and  felt  all  that  a  man  in  his  circum 
stances  could.  Since  he  has  had  to  pay  so  great  a 
price,  I  want  him  to  have  had  full  value." 

"It's  a  fine  thing  to  be  willing  to  pay  the  price," 
mused  Kate.  "  If  you  can  face  whatever-gods- there- 
be  and  say,  ' I  Ve  had  my  adventure.  What's  due?' 
you're  pretty  well  done  with  fears  and  flurries." 

"Wise  one!"  laughed  Wander.  "What  do  you 
know  about  paying?" 

"You  think  I  don't  know!"  she  cried.  Then  she 
flushed  and  drew  back.  "The  last  folly  of  the  brag 
gart  is  to  boast  of  misfortune,"  she  said.  "But, 
really,  I  have  paid,  if  missing  some  precious  things 
that  might  have  been  mine  is  a  payment  for  pride 
and  wilfullness." 

"  I  hope  you  have  n't  missed  very  much,  then,  — 
not  anything  that  you  '11  be  regretting  in  the  years  to 
come." 

"Oh,  regret  is  never  going  to  be  a  specialty  of 
mine,"  declared  Kate.  " To-morrow 's  the  chance !  I 
shall  never  be  able  to  do  much  with  yesterday,  no 
matter  how  wise  I  become." 

357 


THE   PRECIPICE 

* 

"Right  you  are!"  said  Wander  sharply.  "The 
only  thing  is  that  you  don't  know  quite  the  full 
bearing  of  your  remark  —  and  I  do." 

She  laughed  sympathetically. 

"Truth  is  truth,"  she  said. 

"Yes."  He  hung  over  the  obvious  aphorism  boy 
ishly.  "Yes,  truth  is  truth,  no  matter  who  utters  it." 

"Thanks,  kind  sir." 

"Oh,  I  was  thinking  of  the  excellent  Clarinda 
Hays.  I  listened  to  your  conversation  this  morning 
and  it  seemed  to  me  that  she  was  giving  you  about  all 
the  truth  you  could  find  bins  for.  I  could  n't  help 
but  take  it  in,  it  was  so  complacently  offered.  But 
Clarinda  was  getting  her  '  sacred  feelings '  mixed  up 
with  the  truth.  However,  I  suppose  there  is  an  essen 
tial  truth  about  sacred  feelings  even  when  they're 
founded  on  an  error.  I  surmised  that  you  were  hold 
ing  back  vastly  more  than  you  were  saying.  Now 
that  we  're  pretty  well  toward  a  mountain- top,  with 
nobody  listening,  you  might  tell  me  what  you  were 
thinking." 

Kate  smiled  slowly.  She  looked  at  the  man  beside 
her  as  if  appraising  him. 

"I'm  terribly  afraid,"  she  said  at  length,  "that 
you  are  soul-kin  to  Clarinda.  You  '11  walk  in  a  mist 
of  sacred  feelings,  too,  and  truth  will  play  hide  and 
seek  with  you  all  over  the  place." 

"Nonsense!"  he  cried.  "Why  can't  I  hear  what 
you  have  to  say?  You  stand  on  platforms  and  tell  it 
to  hundreds.  Why  should  you  grudge  it  to  me?" 

358 


THE  PRECIPICE 

She  swept  her  hand  toward  the  landscape  around 
them. 

"It  has  to  do  with  change,"  she  said.  "And  with 
evolution.  Look  at  this  scarred  mountain-side,  how 
confused  and  senseless  the  upheavals  seem  which 
have  given  it  its  grandeur!  Nor  is  it  static  yet.  It  is 
continually  wearing  down.  Erosion  is  diminishing  it, 
that  river  is  denuding  it.  Eternal  change  is  the  only 
law." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Wander,  his  eyes  glowing. 

"In  the  world  of  thought  it  is  the  same." 

"Verily." 

"But  I  speak  for  women  —  and  I  am  afraid  that 
you'll  not  understand." 

"I  should  like  to  be  given  a  chance  to  try,"  he 
answered. 

"Clarinda,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
"like  the  larger  part  of  the  world,  is  looking  at  a 
mirage.  She  sees  these  shining  pictures  on  the  hot 
sand  of  the  world  and  she  says:  'These  are  the  real 
things.  I  will  fix  my  gaze  on  them.  What  does  the  hot 
sand  and  the  trackless  waste  matter  so  long  as  I  have 
these  beautiful  mirages  to  look  at?'  When  you  say 
that  mirages  are  insubstantial,  evanishing,  mere 
tricks  of  air  and  eye,  the  Clarindas  retort,  'But  if 
you  take  away  our  mirages,  where  are  we  to  turn? 
What  will  you  give  us  in  the  place  of  them?'  She 
thinks,  for  example,  if  a  dying  soldier  calls  on  his 
mother  or  his  sweetheart  that  they  must  be  good 
women.  This  is  not  the  case.  He  calls  on  them  be- 

359 


THE    PRECIPICE 

cause  he  confronts  the  great  loneliness  of  death.  He 
is  quite  as  likely  to  call  on  a  wicked  woman  if  she  is 
the  one  whose  name  comes  to  his  flickering  sense. 
But  even  supposing  that  one  had  to  be  sacrificial, 
subservient,  and  to  possess  all  the  other  Clarinda 
virtues  in  order  to  have  a  dying  man  call  on  one, 
still,  would  that  burst  of  delirious  wistfulness  com 
pensate  one  for  years  of  servitude?" 

She  let  the  statement  hang  in  the  air  for  a  mo 
ment,  while  Wander's  color  deepened  yet  more.  He 
was  being  wounded  in  the  place  of  his  dreams  and 
the  pang  was  sharp. 

" If  some  one,  dying,  called  you  'Faithful  slave,' " 
resumed  Kate,  "would  that  make  you  proud? 
Would  it  not  rather  be  a  humiliation?  Now,  'good 
wife'  might  be  synonymous  with  'faithful  slave.' 
That 's  what  I  'd  have  to  ascertain  before  I  could  be 
complimented  as  Clarinda  was  complimented  by 
those  words.  I'd  have  to  have  my  own  approval. 
No  one  else  could  comfort  me  with  a  'well  done' 
unless  my  own  conscience  echoed  the  words.  '  Good 
wife,'  indeed!" 

"What  would  reconcile  you  to  such  commenda 
tions?"  asked  Wander  with  a  reproach  that  was 
almost  personal. 

"The  possession  of  those  privileges  and  mediums 
by  which  liberty  is  sustained." 

"For  example?" 

' '  My  own  independent  powers  of  thought ;  my  own 
religion,  politics,  taste,  and  direction  of  self-develop- 

360 


THE   PRECIPICE 

ment  —  above  all,  my  own  money.  By  that  I  mean 
money  for  which  I  did  not  have  to  ask  and  which 
never  was  given  to  me  as  an  indulgence.  Then  I 
should  want  definite  work  commensurate  with  my 
powers ;  arid  the  right  to  a  voice  in  all  matters  affect 
ing  my  life  or  the  life  of  my  family." 

"That  is  what  you  would  take.  But  what  would 
you  give?" 

"I  would  not  'take'  these  things  any  more  than 
•my  husband  would  '  take '  them.  Nor  could  he  be 
stow  them  upon  me,  for  they  are  mine  by  inherent 
right." 

"Could  he  give  you  nothing,  then?" 

"Love.  Yet  it  may  not  be  correct  to  say  that  he 
could  give  that.  He  would  not  love  me  because  he 
chose  to  do  so,  but  because  he  could  not  help  doing 
so.  At  least,  that  is  my  idea  of  love.  He  would  love 
me  as  I  was,  with  all  my  faults  and  follies,  and  I 
should  love  him  the  same  way.  I  should  be  as  proud 
of  his  personality  as  I  would  be  defensive  of  my  own. 
I  should  not  ask  him  to  be  like  me ;  I  should  only  ask 
him  to  be  truly  himself  and  to  let  me  be  truly  myself. 
If  our  personalities  diverged,  perhaps  they  would  go 
around  the  circle  and  meet  on  the  other  side." 

"Do  you  think,  my  dear  woman,  that  you  would 
be  able  to  recognize  each  other  after  such  a  long 
journey?" 

"There  would  be  distinguishing  marks,"  laughed 
Kate;  "birthmarks  of  the  soul.  But  I  neglected  to 
say  that  it  would  not  satisfy  me  merely  to  be  given  a 


THE  PRECIPICE 

portion  of  the  earnings  of  the  family — that  portion 
which  I  would  require  to  conduct  the  household  and 
which  I  might  claim  as  my  share  of  the  result  of  la 
bor.  I  should  also  wish,  when  there  was  a  surplus,  to 
be  given  half  of  it  that  I  might  make  my  own  experi 
ments." 

"A  full  partnership!" 

"That's  the  idea,  precisely:  a  full  partnership. 
There  is  an  assumption  that  marriages  are  that  now, 
but  it  is  not  so,  as  all  frank  persons  must  concede." 

"7  concede  it,  at  any  rate." 

"Now,  you  must  understand  that  we  women  are 
asking  these  things  because  we  are  acquiring  new 
ideas  of  duty.  A  duty  is  like  a  command ;  it  must  be 
obeyed.  It  has  been  laid  upon  us  to  demand  rights 
and  privileges  equal  to  those  enjoyed  by  men,  and 
we  wish  them  to  be  extended  to  us  not  because  we 
are  young  or  beautiful  or  winning  or  chaste,  but 
\because  we  are  members  of  a  common  humanity 
'with  men  and  are  entitled  to  the  same  inheritance. 
We  want  our  status  established,  so  that  when  we 
make  a  marriage  alliance  we  can  do  it  for  love  and 
no  other  reason  —  not  for  a  home,  or  support,  or 
children  or  protection.  Marriage  should  be  a  priv 
ilege  and  a  reward  —  not  a  necessity.  It  should  be  so 
that  if  we  spinsters  want  a  home,  we  can  earn  one; 
if  we  desire  children,  we  can  take  to  ourselves  some 
of  the  motherless  ones;  and  we  should  be  able  to 
entrust  society  with  our  protection.  By  society  I 
mean,  of  course,  the  structure  which  civilized  people 

362 


THE  PRECIPICE 

have  fashioned  for  themselves,  the  portals  of  which 
are  personal  rights  and  the  law." 

"But  what  will  all  the  lovers  do?  If  everything 
is  adjusted  to  such  a  nicety,  what  will  they  be  able 
to  sacrifice  for  each  other?" 

"Lovers,"  smiled  Kate,  "will  always  be  able  to 
make  their  own  paradise,  and  a  jewelled  sacrifice 
will  be  the  keystone  of  each  window  in  their  house 
of  love.  But  there  are  only  a  few  lovers  in  the  world 
compared  with  those  who  have  come  down  through 
the  realm  of  little  morning  clouds  and  are  bearing 
the  heat  and  burden  of  the  day." 

"How  do  you  know  all  of  these  things,  Wise 
Woman?  Have  you  had  so  much  experience?" 

"We  each  have  all  the  accumulated  experience  of 
the  centuries.  We  don't  have  to  keep  to  the  limits 
of  our  own  little  individual  lives." 

"  I  often  have  dreamed  of  bringing  you  up  on  this 
trail,"  said  Wander  whimsically,  "but  never  for  the 
purpose  of  hearing  you  make  your  declaration  of 
independence." 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Kate.  "In  what  better 
place  could  I  make  it?" 

Beside  the  clamorous  waterfall  was  a  huge  boulder 
squared  almost  as  if  the  hand  of  a  mason  had  shaped 
it.  Kate  stepped  on  it,  before  Wander  could  prevent 
her,  and  stood  laughing  back  at  him,  the  wind  blow 
ing  her  garments  about  her  and  lifting  strands  of  her 
loosened  hair. 

"  I  declare  my  freedom!"  she  cried  with  grandiose 
363 


THE   PRECIPICE 

mockery.    "Freedom  to  think  my  own  thoughts, 
preach  my  own  creeds,  do  my  own  work,  and  make 
the  sacrifices  of  my  own  choosing.    I  declare  that  I 
will  have  no  master  and  no  mistress,  no  slave  and  no 
neophyte,  but  that  I  will  strive  to  preserve  my  own 
personality  and  to  help  all  of  my  brothers  and  sis 
ters,  the  world  over,  to  preserve  theirs.    I  declare 
that  I  will  let  no  superstition  or  prejudice  set  lim- 
,  its  to  my  good  will,  my  influence,  or  my  ambition!" 
—"You  are  standing  on  a  precipice,"  he  warned. 
^' It's  glorious!" 
^'But  it  may  be  fatal." 

—"But  I  have  the  head  for  it,"  she  retorted.    "I 
shall  not  fall!" 

"Others  may  who  try  to  emulate  you." 

"That's  Fear  —  the  most  subtle  of  foes!" 

"Oh,  come  back,"  he  pleaded  seriously,  "I  can't 
bear  to  see  you  standing  there!" 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  giving  him  her  hand  with 
a  gay  gesture  of  capitulation.  "  But  did  n't  you  say 
that  men  liked  to  climb?  Well,  women  do,  too." 

They  were  conscious  of  being  late  for  dinner  and 
they  turned  their  faces  toward  home. 

"How  ridiculous,"  remarked  Wander,  "that  we 
should  think  ourselves  obliged  to  return  for  din 
ner!" 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Kate,  "I  think  it  bears 
witness  to  both  our  health  and  our  sanity.  I  Ve  got 
over  being  afraid  that  I  shall  be  injured  by  the  com 
monplace.  When  I  open  your  door  and  smell  the 

364 


THE  PRECIPICE 

roast  or  the  turnips  or  whatever  food  has  been 
provided,  I  shall  like  it  just  as  well  as  if  it  were 
flowers." 

Wander  helped  her  down  a  jagged  descent  and 
laughed  up  in  her  face. 

'  "What  a  materialist!"  he  cried.    "And  I  thought 
you  were  interested  only  in  the  ideal." 

"Things  are  n't  ideal  because  they  have  been  la 
beled  so,"  declared  Kate.  "  When  people  tell  you 
they  are  clinging  to  old  ideals,  it's  well  to  find  out 
if  they  are  n't  napping  in  some  musty  old  room  be 
neath  the  cobwebs.  I'm  a  materialist,  very  likely, 
but  that's  only  incidental  to  my  realism.  I  like  to 
be  allowed  to  realize  the  truth  about  things,  and  you 
know  yourself  that  you  men  —  who  really  are  the 
sentimental  sex  —  have  tried  as  hard  as  you  could 
not  to  let  us." 

"  You  speak  as  if  we  had  deliberately  fooled  you." 

"You  have  n't  fooled  us  any  more  than  we  have 
fooled  ourselves."  They  had  reached  the  lower  level 
now,  and  could  walk  side  by  side.  "  You  've  kept  us 
supplemental,  and  we've  thought  we  were  noble 
when  we  played  the  supplemental  part.  But  it 
does  n't  look  so  to  us  any  longer.  We  want  to  be 
ourselves  and  to  justify  ourselves.  There's  a  good 
deal  of  complaint  about  women  not  having  enough 
to  do  —  about  the  factories  and  shops  taking  their 
work  away  from  them  and  leaving  them  idle  and  in 
expressive.  Well,  in  a  way,  that's  true,  and  I'm 
a  strong  advocate  of  new  vocations,  so  that  women 

365 


THE  PRECIPICE 

can  have  their  own  purses  and  all  that.  But  I  know 
in  my  heart  all  this  is  incidental.  What  we  really 
need  is  a  definite  set  of  principles ;  if  we  can  acquire 
an  inner  stability,  we  shall  do  very  well  whether  our 
hands  are  perpetually  occupied  or  not.  But  just  at 
present  we  poor  women  are  sitting  in  the  ruins  of  our 
collapsed  faiths,  and  we  have  n't  decided  what  sort 
of  architecture  to  use  in  erecting  the  new  one." 

"There  does  n't  seem  to  be  much  peace  left  in  the 
world,"  mused  Wander.  "  Do  you  women  think  you 
will  have  peace  when  you  get  this  new  faith?" 

"Oh,  dear  me,"  retorted  Kate,  "what  would  you 
have  us  do  with  peace?  You  can  get  that  in  any  gar 
landed  sepulcher.  Peace  is  like  perfection,  it  is  n't 
desirable.  We  should  perish  of  it.  As  long  as  there  is 
life  there  is  struggle  and  change.  But  when  we  have 
our  inner  faith,  when  we  can  see  what  the  thing  is  for 
which  we  are  to  strive,  then  we  shall  cease  to  be  so 
spasmodic  in  our  efforts.  We'll  not  be  doing  such 
grotesque  things.  We'll  come  into  new  dignity." 

"What  you're  trying  to  say,"  said  Wander,  "is 
that  it  is  ourselves  who  are  to  be  our  best  achieve 
ment.  It 's  what  we  make  of  ourselves  that  matters." 

"Oh,  that's  it!  That's  it!"  cried  Kate,  beating 
her  gloved  hands  together  like  a  child.  "You're 
getting  it!  You're  getting  it!  It's  what  we  make 
of  ourselves  that  matters,  and  we  must  all  have  the 
right  to  find  ourselves  —  to  keep  exploring  till  we 
find  our  highest  selves.  There  must  n't  be  such  a 
waste  of  ability  and  power  and  hope  as  there  has 

366 


THE   PRECIPICE 

been.  We  must  all  have  our  share  in  the  essentials 
—  our  own  relation  to  reality." 

"I  see,"  he  said,  pausing  at  the  door,  and  looking 
into  her  face  as  if  he  would  spell  out  her  incommun 
icable  self.  "That's  what  you  mean  by  universal 
liberty." 

"That's  what  I  mean." 

"And  the  man  you  marry  must  let  you  pick  your 
own  way,  make  your  own  blunders,  grow  by  your 
own  experience." 

"Yes." 

Honora  opened  the  door  and  looked  at  them.  She 
was  weak  and  she  leaned  against  the  casing  for  her 
support,  but  her  face  was  tender  and  calm,  and  she 
was  regnant  over  her  own  mind. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you  two?"  she  asked. 
"Are  n't  you  coming  in  to  dinner?  Have  n't  you 
any  appetites?" 

Kate  threw  her  arms  about  her. 

"Oh,  Honora,"  she  cried.  "How  lovely  you  look! 
Appetites?  We're  famished." 


XXX 

ANOTHER  week  went  by,  and  though  it  went 
swiftly,  still  at  the  end  of  the  time  it  seemed  long, 
as  very  happy  and  significant  times  do.  Honora 
was  still  weak,  but  as  every  comfort  had  been 
provided  for  her  journey,  it  seemed  more  than  prob 
able  that  she  would  be  benefited  in  the  long  run 
by  the  change,  however  exhausting  it  might  be 
temporarily. 

"It's  the  morning  of  the  last  day,"  said  Wan 
der  at  breakfast.  "Honora  is  to  treat  herself  as 
if  she  were  the  finest  and  most  highly  decorated 
bohemian  glass,  and  save  herself  up  for  her  jour 
ney.  All  preparations,  I  am  told,  are  completed. 
Very  well,  then.  Do  you  and  I  ride  to-day,  Miss 
Harrington?" 

"'Here  we  ride,'"  quoted  Kate.  Then  she 
flushed,  remembering  the  reference. 

Did  Karl  recognize  it  —  or  know  it?  She  could 
not  tell.  He  could,  at  will,  show  a  superb  inscruta 
bility. 

Whether  he  knew  Browning's  poem  or  not,  Kate 
found  to  her  irritation  that  she  did.  Lines  she 
thought  she  had  forgotten,  trooped  —  galloped  — 
back  into  her  brain.  The  thud  of  them  fell  like 
rhythmic  hoofs  upon  the  road. 

368 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"Then  we  began  to  ride.     My  soul 
Smoothed  itself  out,  a  long-cramped  scroll 
Freshening  and  fluttering  in  the  wind. 
Past  hopes  already  lay  behind. 
What  need  to  strive  with  a  life  awry? 
Had  I  said  that,  had  I  done  this, 
So  might  I  gain,  so  might  I  miss." 

She  wove  her  braids  about  her  head  to  the  mea 
sure;  buckled  her  boots  and  buttoned  her  habit: 
and  then,  veiled  and  gauntleted  she  went  down  the 
stairs,  still  keeping  time  to  the  inaudible  tune:  — 

"So  might  I  gain,  so  might  I  miss." 

The  mare  Wander  held  for  her  was  one  which  she 
had  ridden  several  times  before  and  with  which  she 
was  already  on  terms  of  good  feeling.  That  subtle, 
quick  understanding  which  goes  from  horse  to  rider, 
when  all  is  well  in  their  relations,  and  when  both  are 
eager  to  face  the  wind,  passed  now  from  Lady  Bel  to 
Kate.  She  let  the  creature  nose  her  for  a  moment, 
then  accepted  Wander's  hand  and  mounted.  The 
fine  animal  quivered  delicately,  shook  herself,  pawed 
the  dust  with  a  motion  as  graceful  as  any  lady  could 
have  made,  threw  a  pleasant,  sociable  look  over  her 
shoulder,  and  at  Kate's  vivacious  lift  of  the  rein  was 
off.  Wander  was  mounted  magnificently  on  Nell, 
a  mare  of  heavier  build,  a  black  animal,  which  made 
a  good  contrast  to  Lady  Bel's  shining  roan  coat. 

The  animals  were  too  fresh  and  impatient  to  per 
mit  much  conversation  between  their  riders.  They 
were  answering  to  the  call  of  the  road  as  much  as 
were  the  humans  who  rode  them.  Kate  tried  to 

369 


THE  PRECIPICE 

think  of  the  scenes  which  were  flashing  by,  or  of  the 
village,  — Wander's  "rowdy"  village,  teeming  with 
its  human  stories;  but,  after  all,  it  was  Browning's 
lines  which  had  their  way  with  her.  They  trumpeted 
themselves  in  her  ear,  changing  a  word  here  and 
there,  impishly,  to  suit  her  case. 

"We  rode;  it  seemed  my  spirit  flew, 
Saw  other  regions,  cities  new, 
As  the  world  rushed  by  on  either  side. 
I  thought,  All  labor,  yet  no  less 
Bear  up  beneath  their  unsuccess. 
Look  at  the  end  of  work,  contrast 
The  petty  Done,  the  Undone  vast, 
This  present  of  theirs  with  the  hopeful  past ! 
I  hoped  he  would  love  me.     Here  we  ride." 

They  were  to  the  north  of  the  village,  heading  for 
a  canon.  The  road  was  good,  the  day  not  too  warm, 
and  the  passionate  mountain  springtime  was  burst 
ing  into  flower  and  leaf.  Presently  walls  of  rock  be 
gan  to  rise  about  them.  They  were  of  innumera 
ble,  indefinable  rock  colors  —  grayish-yellows,  dull 
olives,  old  rose,  elusive  purples,  and  browns  as  rich 
as  prairie  soil.  Coiling  like  a  cobra,  the  Little  Willis- 
ton  raced  singing  through  the  midst  of  the  chasm, 
sun-mottled  and  bright  as  the  trout  that  hid  in  its 
cold  shallows.  Was  all  the  world  singing?  Were  the 
invisible  stars  of  heaven  rhyming  with  one  another? 
Had  a  lost  rhythm  been  recaptured,  and  did  she 
hear  the  pulsations  of  a  deep  Earth-harmony  — 
or  was  it,  after  all,  only  the  insistent  beat  of  the 
poet's  line? 

370 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"What  if  we  still  ride  on,  we  two, 
With  life  forever  old,  yet  new, 
Changed  not  in  kind  but  in  degree, 
The  instant  made  eternity,  — 
And  Heaven  just  prove  that  I  and  he 
Ride,  ride  together,  forever  ride?" 

What  Wander  said,  when  he  spoke,  was,  "Walk," 
and  the  remark  was  made  to  his  horse.  Lady  Bel 
slackened,  too.  They  were  in  the  midst  of  great 
beauty  —  complex,  almost  chaotic,  beauty,  such  as 
the  Rocky  Mountains  often  display. 

Wander  drew  his  horse  nearer  to  Kate's,  and  as  a 
turning  of  the  road  shut  them  in  a  solitary  paradise 
where  alders  and  willows  fringed  the  way  with  fresh- 
born  green,  he  laid  his  hand  on  her  saddle. 

"Kate,"  he  said,  "can  you  make  up  your  mind 
to  stay  here  with  me?" 

Kate  drew  in  her  breath  sharply.  Then  she 
laughed. 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  you  are  introducing  or 
continuing  a  topic?"  she  asked. 

He  laughed,  too.  They  were  as  willing  to  play  with 
the  subject  as  children  are  to  play  with  flowers. 

"I  am  continuing  it,"  he  affirmed. 

"Really?" 

"And  you  know  it." 

"Do  I?" 

"From  the  first  moment  that  I  laid  eyes  on  you, 
all  the  time  that  I  was  writing  to  Honora  and  really 
was  trying  to  snare  your  interest,  and  after  she  came 
here,  —  even  when  I  absurdly  commanded  you  not 

37i 


THE  PRECIPICE 

to  write  to  me,  —  and  now,  every  moment  since  you 
set  foot  in  my  wild  country,  what  have  I  done  but 
say:  ' Kate,  will  you  stay  with  me? ' ' 

"And  will  I?"  mused  Kate.  "What  do  you 
offer?" 

She  once  had  asked  the  same  question  of  McCrea. 

"A  faulty  man's  unchanging  love." 

"What  makes  you  think  it  will  not  change  — 
especially  since  you  are  a  faulty  man?" 

"  I  think  it  will  not  change  because  I  am  so  faulty 
that  I  must  have  something  perfect  to  which  to  cling." 

"Nonsense!  A  Clarinda  dream !  There's  nothing 
perfect  about  me!  The  whole  truth  is  that  you  don't 
know  whether  you'll  change  or  not!" 

"Well,  say  that  I  change!  Say  that  I  pass  from 
shimmering  moonlight  to  common  sunlight  love! 
Say  that  we  walk  a  heavy  road  and  carry  burdens 
and  that  our  throats  are  so  parched  we  forget  to 
turn  our  eyes  toward  each  other.  Still  we  shall  be 
side  by  side,  and  in  the  end  the  dust  of  us  shall  min 
gle  in  one  earth.  As  for  our  spirits  —  if  they  have 
triumphed  together,  where  is  the  logic  in  supposing 
that  they  will  know  separation?" 

"You  will  give  me  love,"  said  Kate,  "changing, 
faulty,  human  love !  I  ask  no  better  —  in  the  way 
of  love.  I  can  match  you  in  faultiness  and  in  change- 
fulness  and  in  hope.  But  now  what  else  can  you  give 
me  —  what  work  —  what  chance  to  justify  myself, 
what  exercise  for  my  powers?  You  have  your  work 
laid  out  for  you.  Where  is  mine?" 

372 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Wander  stared  at  her  a  moment  with  a  bewild 
ered  expression.  Then  he  leaped  from  his  horse  and 
caught  Kate's  bridle. 

"Where  is  your  work,  woman?"  he  thundered. 
"Are  you  teasing  me  still  or  are  you  in  earnest? 
Your  work  is  in  your  home!  With  all  your  wisdom, 
don't  you  know  that  yet?  It  is  in  your  home,  bearing 
and  rearing  your  sons  and  your  daughters,  and  add 
ing  to  my  sum  of  joy  and  your  own.  It  is  in  learn 
ing  secrets  of  happiness  which  only  experience  can 
teach.  Listen  to  me:  If  my  back  ached  and  my  face 
dripped  sweat  because  I  was  toiling  for  you  and  your 
children,  I  would  count  it  a  privilege.  It  would  be 
the  crown  of  my  life.  Justify  yourself?  How  can 
you  justify  yourself  except  by  being  of  the  Earth, 
learning  of  her;  her  obedient  and  happy  child?  Jus 
tify  yourself?  Kate  Barrington,  you'll  have  to 
justify  yourself  to  me." 

"How  dare  you?"  asked  Kate  under  her  breath. 
"Who  has  given  you  a  right  to  take  me  to 
task?" 

"Our  love,"  he  said,  and  looked  her  unflinchingly 
in  the  eye.  "  My  love  for  you  and  your  love  for  me. 
I  demand  the  truth  of  you,  —  the  deepest  truth  of 
your  deepest  soul,  —  because  we  are  mates  and  can 
never  escape  each  other  as  long  as  we  live,  though 
half  the  earth  divides  us  and  all  our  years.  Wherever 
we  go,  our  thoughts  will  turn  toward  each  other. 
When  we  meet,  though  we  have  striven  to  hate  each 
other,  yet  our  hands  will  long  to  clasp.  We  may  be 

373 


THE   PRECIPICE 

at  war,  but  we  will  love  it  better  than  peace  with 
others.  I  tell  you,  I  march  to  the  tune  of  your  piping ; 
you  keep  step  to  my  drum-beats.  What  is  the  use  of 
theorizing?  I  speak  of  a  fact." 

"I  am  going  to  turn  my  horse,"  she  said.  "Will 
you  please  stand  aside?" 

He  dropped  her  bridle. 

"Is  that  all  you  have  to  say?" 

She  looked  at  him  haughtily  for  a  moment  and 
whirled  her  horse.  Then  she  drew  the  mare  up. 

"Karl!  "she  called. 

No  answer. 

"I  say  — Karl!" 

He  came  to  her. 

"I  am  not  angry.  I  know  quite  well  what  you 
mean.  You  were  speaking  of  the  fundamentals." 

"I  was." 

"  But  how  about  me?  Am  I  to  have  no  importance 
save  in  my  relation  to  you?" 

"You  cannot  have  your  greatest  importance  save 
in  your  relation  to  me." 

She  looked  at  him  long.  Her  eyes  underwent  a 
dozen  changes.  They  taunted  him,  tempted  him, 
comforted  him,  bade  him  hope,  bade  him  fear. 

"We  must  ride  home,"  she  said  at  length. 

"And  my  question?  I  asked  you  if  you  were  will 
ing  to  stay  here  with  me?" 

"The  question,"  she  said  with  a  dry  little  smile, 

"is  laid  very  respectfully  on  the  knees  of  the  gods." 

;  He  turned  from  her  and  swung  into  his  saddle. 

374 


THE   PRECIPICE 

They  pounded  home  in  silence.  The  lines  of  "The 
Last  Ride"  were  besetting  her  still. 

"  Who  knows  what 's  fit  for  us?    Had  fate 
Proposed  bliss  here  should  sublimate 
My  being;  had  I  signed  the  bond  — 
Still  one  must  lead  some  life  beyond,  — 
Have  a  bliss  to  die  with,  dim-descried. 
This  foot  once  planted  on  the  goal, 
This  glory-garland  round  my  soul, 
Could  I  descry  such?    Try  and  test?  " 

She  gave  him  no  chance  to  help  her  dismount,  but 
leaping  to  the  ground,  turned  the  good  mare's  head 
stableward,  and  ran  to  her  room.  He  did  not  see  her 
till  dinner-time.  Honora  was  at  the  table,  and  occu 
pied  their  care  and  thought. 

Afterward  there  was  the  ten-mile  ride  to  the 
station,  but  Kate  sat  beside  Honora.  There  was  a 
full  moon  —  and  the  world  ached  for  lovers.  But  if 
any  touched  lips,  Karl  Wander  and  Kate  Harrington 
knew  nothing  of  it.  At  the  station  they  shook  hands. 

"Are  you  coming  back?"  asked  Wander.  "Will 
you  bring  Honora  back  home?" 

In  the  moonlight  Kate  turned  a  sudden  smile  on 
him. 

"Of  course  I'm  coming  back,"  she  said.  "I 
always  put  a  period  to  my  sentences." 

"Good!"  he  said.  "But  that's  a  very  different 
matter  from  writing  a  'Finis'  to  your  book." 

"I  shall  conclude  on  an  interrupted  sentence," 
laughed  Kate,  "and  I'll  let  some  one  else  write 
'Finis.'" 

375 


THE  PRECIPICE 

The  great  train  labored  in,  paused  for  no  more 
than  a  moment,  and  was  off  again.  It  left  Wander's 
world  well  denuded.  The  sense  of  aching  loneliness 
was  like  an  agony.  She  had  evaded  him.  She  be 
longed  to  him,  and  he  had  somehow  let  her  go! 
What  had  he  said,  or  failed  to  say?  What  had  she 
desired  that  he  had  not  given?  He  tried  to  assure 
himself  that  he  had  been  guiltless,  but  as  he  passed 
his  sleeping  village  and  glimpsed  the  ever-increasing 
dumps  before  his  mines,  he  knew  in  his  heart  that  he 
had  been  asking  her  to  play  his  game.  Of  course,  on 
the  other  hand  — 

But  what  was  the  use  of  running  around  in  a 
squirrel  cage!  She  was  gone.  He  was  alone. 


XXXI 

THE  Federation  of  Women's  Clubs ! 

Two  thousand  women  gathered  in  the  name  of  — 
what? 

Why,  of  culture,  of  literature,  of  sisterhood,  of 
benevolence,  of  music,  art,  town  beautification,  the 
abolition  of  child-labor,  the  abolition  of  sweat-shops, 
the  extension  of  peace  and  opportunity. 

And  run  how?  By  politics,  sharp  and  keen,  far- 
seeing  and  combative. 

The  results?  The  cooperation  of  forceful  women, 
the  encouragement  of  timid  ones;  the  development 
of  certain  forms  of  talent,  and  the  destruction  of 
some  old-time  virtues. 

The  balance?  On  the  side  of  good,  incontestably. 

"Yes,  it's  on  the  side  of  good,"  said  Honora,  who 
was,  after  all,  like  a  nun  (save  that  her  laboratory 
had  been  her  cell,  and  a  man's  fame  her  passion),  and 
who  therefore  brought  to  this  vast,  highly  energized, 
capable,  various  gathering  a  judgment  unpreju 
diced,  unworldly,  and  clear.  As  she  saw  these  women 
of  many  types,  from  all  of  the  States,  united  in  great 
causes,  united,  too,  in  the  cultivation  of  things  not 
easy  of  definition,  she  felt  that,  in  spite  of  drawbacks, 
it  must  be  good.  She  listened  to  their  papers,  heard 
their  earnest  propaganda.  A  distinguished  Jewess 
from  New  York  told  of  the  work  among  the  immi- 

377 


THE  PRECIPICE 

grants  and  the  methods  by  which  they  were  created 
into   intelligent   citizens;   a   beautiful   Kentuckian 
spoke  of  the  work  among  the  white  mountaineers ;  a 
very  venerable  gentlewoman  from  Chicago,  exqui 
sitely  frail,  talked  on  behalf  of  the  children  in  fac 
tories;  a  crisp,  curt,  efficient  woman  from  Oregon 
advocated  the  dissemination  of   books'  among  the 
"lumber-jacks."    They  were  ingenious  in  their  pur- 
*  suit  of  benevolences,  and  their  annual  reports  were 
« the  impersonal  records  of  personal  labors.  They  had 
•started   libraries,   made   little   parks,    inaugurated 
•playgrounds,  instituted  exchanges  for  the  sale  of 
women's  wares,  secured  women  internes  in  hospitals, 
"paid  for  truant  officers,  founded  children's  protective 
-associations,  installed  branches  of  the  Associated 
"  Charities,  encouraged  night  schools,  circulated  art 
'  exhibits  and  traveling  libraries ;  they  had  placed  pic- 
'tures  in  the  public  schools,  founded  kindergartens 
—  the  list  seemed  inexhaustible. 

"Oh,  decidedly,"  Kate  granted  Honora,  "the 
thing  seems  to  be  good." 

Moreover,  there  was  good  being  done  of  a  less 
assertive  but  equally  commendable  nature.  The 
lines  of  section  grew  vague  when  the  social  Georgian 
sat  side  by  side  with  the  genial  woman  from  Michi 
gan.  Mrs.  Johnson  of  Minnesota  and  Mrs.  Cabot  of 
Massachusetts,  Mrs.  Hardin  of  Kentucky  and  Mrs. 
Garcia  of  California,  found  no  essential  differences  in 
each  other.  Ladies,  the  world  over,  have  a  similarity 
of  tastes.  So,  as  they  lunched,  dined,  and  drove  to- 

378, 


THE   PRECIPICE 

gether  they  established  relationships  more  intimate 
than  their  convention  hall  could  have  fostered.  If 
they  had  dissensions,  these  were  counterbalanced  by 
the  exchange  of  amenities.  If  their  points  of  view  di 
verged  in  lesser  matters,  they  converged  in  great  ones. 

And  then  the  women  of  few  opportunities  —  the 
farmers'  wives  representing  their  earnest  clubs;  the 
village  women,  wistful  and  rather  shy;  the  emergent, 
onlooking  company  of  few  excursions,  few  indul 
gences  —  what  of  the  Federation  for  them?  At  first, 
perhaps,  they  feared  it;  but  cautiously,  like  unskilled 
swimmers,  they  took  their  experimental  strokes. 
They  found  themselves  secure;  heard  themselves 
applauded.  They  acquired  boldness,  and  presently 
were  exhilarated  by  the  consciousness  of  their  own 
power.  If  the  great  Federation  could  be  cruel,  it 
could  be  kind,  too.  One  thing  it  had  stood  for  from 
the  first,  and  by  that  thing  it  still  abided  —  the 
undeviating,  disinterested  determination  to  help 
women  develop  themselves.  So  the  faltering  voice 
was  listened  to,  and  the  report  of  the  eager,  kind- 
eyed  woman  from  the  little-back-water-of-the-world 
was  heard  with  interest.  The  Federation  knew  the 
value  of  this  woman  who  said  what  she  meant,  and 
did  what  she  promised.  They  sent  her  home  to  her 
town  to  be  an  inspiration.  She  was  a  little  torch, 
carrying  light. 

Day  succeeded  day.  From  early  morning  till 
late  at  night  the  great  convention  read  its  papers, 
ate  its  luncheons,  held  its  committee  meetings  — 

379 


THE   PRECIPICE 

talked,  aspired,  lobbied,  schemed,  prayed,  sang, 
rejoiced !  Culture  was  splendidly  on  its  way  —  prog 
ress  was  the  watchword!  It  was  wonderful  and 
amusing  and  superb. 

The  Feminine  mind,  much  in  action,  shooting  back 
and  forth  like  a  shuttle,  was  weaving  a  curious  and 
admirable  fabric.  There  might  be  some  trouble  in 
discerning  the  design,  but  it  was  there,  and  if  it  was 
not  arrestingly  original,  at  least  it  was  interesting. 
In  places  it  was  even  beautiful.  Now  and  then  it 
gave  suggestions  of  the  grotesque.  It  was  shot 
through  with  the  silver  of  talent,  the  gold  of  genius. 
And  with  all  of  its  defects  it  was  splendid  because  the 
warp  thereof  was  purpose  and  the  woof  enthusiasm. 

Kate's  day  came.  The  great  theater  was  packed 
—  not  a  vacant  seat  remained.  For  it  was  mid- 
afternoon,  the  sun  was  shining,  and  the  day  was  the 
last  one  of  the  convention. 

The  president  presided  with  easy  authority.  It 
became  her  —  that  seat.  Her  keen  eyes  expressed 
themselves  as  being  satisfied;  her  handsome  head 
was  carried  proudly.  Her  voice,  of  medium  pitch, 
had  an  accent  of  gracious  command.  She  presented 
to  the  eye  a  pleasing,  nay,  an  artistic,  picture,  and 
the  very  gown  she  wore  was  a  symbol  of  efficiency  — 
a  sign  to  the  initiate. 

Kate's  heart  was  fluttering,  her  mouth  dry.  She 
greeted  her  chairwoman  somewhat  tremulously,  and 
then  faced  her  audience. 

380 


THE  PRECIPICE 

For  a  moment  she  faltered.  Then  a  face  came 
before  her  —  Karl's  face.  She  did  not  so  much  wish 
to  succeed  for  him  as  in  despite  of  him.  He  had  said 
she  would  reach  her  greatest  importance  through  her 
relationship  to  him.  At  that  moment  she  thrilled  to 
the  belief  that,  independently  of  him,  she  was  still 
important. 

The  great  assemblage  had  ears  for  her.  The  idea 
of  an  extension  of  motherhood,  an  organized,  scien 
tific  supervision  of  children,  made  an  appeal  such  as 
nothing  else  could.  For,  after  all,  persistently  — 
almost  irritatingly,  at  times  —  this  great  federation, 
which  was  supposed  to  concern  itself  with  many  fine 
abstractions,  swung  back  to  that  concrete  and  essen 
tially  womanly  idea  of  the  care  of  children.  Women 
who  had  brought  to  it  high  messages  of  art  and  edu 
cation  had  known  what  it  was  to  be  exasperated 
into  speechlessness  by  what  they  were  pleased  to 
denominate  the  maternal  obsession. 

Kate  swung  them  back  to  it  now,  by  means  of 
impersonal  rather  than  personal  arguments.  She 
did  not  idealize  paternity.  She  was  bitterly  well 
aware  by  this  time  that  parents  were  no  better  than 
other  folk,  and  that  only  a  small  proportion  of  those 
to  whom  the  blessing  came  were  qualified  or  willing 
to  bear  its  responsibilities.  She  touched  on  eugenics 
—  its  advantages  and  its  limitations;  she  referred 
to  the  inadequacy  of  present  laws  and  protective 
measures.  Then  she  went  on  to  describe  what  a 
Bureau  of  Children  might  be. 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"The  business  of  this  bureau,"  she  said,  "will  be 
the  removal  of  handicaps. 

"  Is  the  child  blind,  deaf,  lame,  tubercular,  or  pos 
sessed  of  any  sorry  inheritance?  The  Bureau  of 
Children  will  devise  some  method  of  easing  its  way ; 
some  plan  to  save  it  from  further  degeneration.  Is 
the  child  talented,  and  in  need  of  special  training? 
Has  it  genius,  and  should  it,  for  the  glory  of  the  com 
monwealth  and  the  enrichment  of  life,  be  given  the 
right  of  way?  Then  the  Bureau  of  Children  will  see 
to  it  that  such  provision  is  made.  It  will  not  be  the 
idea  merely  to  aid  the  deficient  and  protect  the  vi 
cious.  Nor  shall  its  highest  aspiration  be  to  serve 
the  average  child,  born  of  average  parents.  It  would 
delight  to  reward  successful  and  devoted  parents  by 
giving  especial  opportunity  to  their  carefully  trained 
and  highly  developed  children.  As  the  Bureau  of 
Agriculture  labors  to  propagate  the  best  species  of 
trees,  fruit,  and  flowers,  so  we  would  labor  to  propa 
gate  the  best  examples  of  humanity  —  the  finest, 
most  sturdily  reared,  best  intelligenced  boys  and  girls. 

"We  would  endeavor  to  prevent  illness  and  loss  of 
life  among  babies  and  children.  Our  circulars  would 
be  distributed  in  all  languages  among  all  of  our  citi 
zens.  We  would  employ  specialists  to  direct  the  feed 
ing,  clothing,  and  general  rearing  of  the  children  of 
all  conditions.  We  would  advocate  the  protection  of 
children  until  they  reached  the  age  of  sixteen;  and 
would  endeavor  to  assist  in  the  supervision  of  these 
children  until  they  were  of  legal  age.  My  idea  would 

382 


THE   PRECIPICE 

be  to  have  all  young  people  under  twenty-one  remain 
in  a  sense  the  wards  of  schools.  If  they  have  had,  at 
any  early  age,  to  leave  school  and  take  the  burdens  of 
bread-winning  upon  their  young  shoulders  and  their 
untried  hearts,  then  I  would  advise  an  extension  of 
school  authority.  The  schools  should  be  provided 
with  assistant  superintendents  whose  business  it 
would  be  to  help  these  young  bread-winners  find 
positions  in  keeping  with  their  tastes  and  abilities, 
thus  aiding  them  in  the  most  practical  and  benefi 
cent  way,  to  hold  their  places  in  this  struggling, 
modern  world. 

"It  is  an  economic  measure  of  the  loftiest  type. 
It  will  provide  against  the  waste  of  bodies  and  souls ; 
it  is  a  device  for  the  conservation  and  the  scientific 
development  of  human  beings.  It  is  part  and  parcel 
of  the  new,  practical  religion  —  a  new  prayer. 

" '  Prayer,'  says  the  old  hymn, '  is  the  soul's  sincere 
desire.' 

"Many  of  us  have  lost  our  belief  in  the  old  forms 
of  prayer.  We  are  beginning  to  realize  that,  to  a  great 
extent,  the  answer  to  prayer  lies  in  our  own  hands. 
Our  answers  come  when  we  use  the  powers  that  have 
been  bestowed  upon  us.  More  and  more  each  year, 
those  who  employ  their  intellects  for  constructive 
purposes  are  turning  their  energies  toward  the 
betterment  of  the  world.  They  have  a  new  concep 
tion  of  'the  world  to  come.'  It  means  to  them  our 
good  brown  Mother  Earth,  warm  and  fecund  and 
laden  with  fruits  for  the  consumption  of  her  children 

383 


THE  PRECIPICE 

as  it  may  be  under  happier  conditions.  They  wish  to 
increase  the  happiness  of  those  children,  to  elevate 
them  physically  and  mentally,  and  to  give  their 
spirits,  too  often  imprisoned  and  degraded  by  hard 
circumstance,  a  chance  to  grow. 

"When  you  let  the  sunlight  in  to  a  stunted  tree, 
with  what  exultant  gratitude  it  lifts  itself  toward  the 
sun!  How  its  branches  greet  the  wind  and  sing  in 
them,  how  its  little  leaves  come  dancing  out  to  make 
a  shelter  for  man  and  the  birds  and  the  furred 
brothers  of  the  forest !  But  this,  wonderful  and  beau 
tiful  as  it  is,  is  but  a  small  thing  compared  with  the 
way  in  which  the  soul  of  a  stunted  child  —  stunted 
by  evil  or  by  sunless  environment  —  leaps  and 
grows  and  sings  when  the  great  spiritual  elements 
of  love  and  liberty  are  permitted  to  reach  it. 

"You  have  talked  of  the  conservation  of  forests; 
and  you  speak  of  a  great  need  —  an  imperative 
cause.  I  talk  of  the  conservation  of  children — which 
is  a  greater  need  and  a  holier  right. 

"Mammalia  are  numerous  in  this  world;  real 
mothers  are  rare.  Can  we  lift  the  mammalia  up  into 
the  high  estate  of  motherhood?  I  believe  so.  Can 
we  grow  superlative  children,  as  we  grow  superlative 
fruits  and  animals?  Oh,  a  thousand  times,  yes.  I  beg 
for  your  support  of  this  new  idea.  Let  the  spirit  of 
inspiration  enter  into  your  reflections  concerning  it. 
Let  that  concentration  of  purpose  which  you  have 
learned  in  your  clubs  and  federations  be  your  aid  here. 

"Most  of  you  whom  I  see  before  me  are  no  longer 
384 


THE  PRECIPICE 

engaged  actively  in  the  tasks  of  motherhood.  The 
children  have  gone  out  from  your  homes  into  homes 
of  their  own.  You  are  left  denuded  and  hungry  for 
the  old  sweet  vocation.  Your  hands  are  too  idle; 
your  abilities  lie  unutilized.  But  here  is  a  task  at 
hand.  I  do  not  say  that  you  are  to  use  this  extension 
to  your  motherhood  for  children  alone,  or  merely  in 
connection  with  this  proposed  Bureau.  I  urge  you, 
indeed,  to  employ  it  in  all  conceivable  ways.  Be  the 
mothers  of  men  and  women  as  well  as  of  little  chil 
dren  —  the  mothers  of  communities  —  the  mothers  of 
the  state.  And  as  a  focus  to  these  energies  and  disin 
terested  activities,  let  us  pray  Washington  to  give  us 
the  Bureau  of  Children." 

She  turned  from  her  responsive  audience  to  the 
chairwoman,  who  handed  her  a  yellow  envelope. 

"A  telegram,  Miss  Barrington.  Should  I  have 
given  it  to  you  before?  I  disliked  interrupting." 

Kate  tore  it  open. 

It  was  from  the  President  of  the  United  States. 
It  ran:  — 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  inform  you  that  the  Bureau 
of  Children  will  become  a  feature  of  our  government 
within  a  year.  It  is  the  desire  of  those  most  inter 
ested,  myself  included,  that  you  should  accept  the 
superintendence  of  it.  I  hope  this  will  reach  you  on 
the  day  of  your  address  before  the  Federation  of 
Women's  Clubs.  Accept  my  congratulations." 

It  was  signed  by  the  chief  executive.  Kate  passed 
the  message  to  the  chairwoman. 

385 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"May  I  read  it?"  the  gratified  president  ques 
tioned.  Kate  nodded.  The  gavel  fell,  and  the  vi 
brant,  tremulous  voice  of  the  president  was  heard 
reading  the  significant  message.  The  women  listened 
for  a  moment  with  something  like  incredulity  —  for 
they  were  more  used  to  delays  and  frustrations  than 
to  cooperation ;  then  the  house  filled  with  the  curious 
muffled  sounds  of  gloved  hands  in  applause.  Pres 
ently  a  voice  shrilled  out  in  inarticulate  acclaim. 
Kate  could  not  catch  its  meaning,  but  two  thousand 
women,  robed  like  flowers,  swayed  to  their  feet. 
Their  handkerchiefs  fluttered.  The  lovely  Calif or- 
nian  blossoms  were  snatched  from  their  belts  and 
their  bosoms  and  flung  upon  the  platform  with 
enthusiastic,  uncertain  aim. 


XXXII 

AFTERWARD  Kate  took  Honora  down  to  the  sea. 
They  found  a  little  house  that  fairly  bathed  its  feet 
in  the  surf,  and  here  they  passed  the  days  very 
quietly,  at  least  to  outward  seeming.  The  Pacific 
thundered  in  upon  them ;  they  could  hear  the  winds, 
calling  and  calling  with  an  immemorial  invitation; 
they  knew  of  the  little  jewelled  islands  that  lay  out 
in  the  seas  and  of  the  lands  of  eld  on  the  far,  far 
shore;  and  they  dreamed  strange  dreams. 

Sitting  in  the  twilight,  watching  the  light  reluc 
tantly  leave  the  sea,  they  spoke  of  many  things. 
They  spoke  most  of  all  of  women,  and  it  sometimes 
seemed,  as  they  sat  there,  —  one  at  the  doorway  of 
the  House  of  Life  and  one  in  a  shaded  inner  chamber, 
-  as  if  the  rune  of  women  came  to  them  from  their 
far  sisters:  from  those  in  their  harems,  from  others 
in  the  blare  of  commercial,  Occidental  life;  from  those 
in  chambers  of  pain;  from  those  freighted  with  the 
poignant  burdens  which  women  bear  in  their  bodies 
and  in  their  souls. 

As  the  darkness  deepened,  they  grew  unashamed 
and  then  reticences  fell  from  them.  The  eternally 
flowing  sea,  the  ever-recurrent  night  gave  them  cour 
age,  though  they  were  women,  to  speak  the  truth. 

"When  I  found  how  deeply  I  loved  David,"  said 
Honora,  "and  that  I  could  serve  him,  too,  by  marry- 

387 


THE   PRECIPICE 

ing  him,  I  would  no  more  have  put  the  idea  of  mar 
riage  with  him  out  of  my  mind  than  I  would  have 
cast  away  a  hope  of  heaven  if  I  had  seen  that  shining 
before  me.  I  would  no  more  have  turned  from  it 
than  I  would  have  turned  from  food,  if  I  had  been 
starving;  or  water  after  I  had  been  thirsting  in  the 
desert.  Why,  Kate,  to  marry  him  was  inevitable! 
The  bird  doesn't  think  when  it  sings  or  the  bud  when 
it  flowers.  It  does  what  it  was  created  to  do.  I  mar 
ried  David  the  same  way." 

"I  understand,"  said  Kate. 

They  sat  on  their  little  low,  sand-swept  balcony, 
facing  the  sea.  The  rising  tide  filled  the  world  with 
its  soft  and  indescribable  cadence.  The  stars  came 
out  into  the  sky  according  to  their  rank  —  the  great 
est  first,  and  after  them  the  less,  and  the  less  no 
more  lacking  in  beauty  than  the  great.  All  was  as  it 
should  be  —  all  was  ordered  —  all  was  fit  and  won 
derful.  . 

"So,"  went  on  Honora,  after  a  silence  which  the 
sea  filled  in  with  its  low  harmonies,  "if  you  loved 
Karl—" 

"Wait!"  said  Kate.  So  Honora  waited.  Another 
silence  fell.  Then  Kate  spoke  brokenly. 

"  If  to  feel  when  I  am  with  him  that  I  have  reached 
my  home;  if  to  suffer  a  strangeness  even  with  my 
self,  and  to  feel  less  familiar  with  myself  than  with 
him,  is  to  love,  then  I  love  him,  Honora.  If  to  want 
to  work  with  him,  and  to  feel  there  could  be  no  exul 
tation  like  overcoming  difficulties  with  him,  is  love, 

388 


THE  PRECIPICE 

then  truly  I  love  him.  If  just  to  see  him,  at  a  dis 
tance,  enriches  the  world  and  makes  the  stream  of 
time  turn  from  lead  to  gold  is  anything  in  the  nature 
of  love,  then  I  am  his  lover.  If  to  long  to  house  with 
him,  to  go  by  the  same  name  that  hedoes,  to  wear  him, 
so  to  speak,  carved  on  my  brow,  is  to  love,  then  I  do." 

"Then  I  foresee  that  you  will  be  one  of  the  hap 
piest  women  in  the  world." 

"No!  No;  you  mustn't  say  that.  Aren't  there 
other  things  than  love,  Honora, — better  things  than 
selfish  delight?" 

"My  dear,  you  have  no  call  to  distress  yourself 
about  the  occult  meanings  of  that  word  'selfish.' 
Unselfish  people  —  or  those  who  mean  to  be  so  — 
contrive,  when  they  refuse  to  follow  the  instincts  of 
their  hearts,  to  cause  more  suffering  even  than  the 
out-and-out  selfish  ones." 

-^  "  But  I  have  an  opportunity  to  serve  thousands  — 
maybe  hundreds  of  thousands  of  human  beings.  I 
can  set  in  motion  a  movement  which  may  have  a 
more  lasting  effect  upon  my  country  than  any  vic 
tory  ever  gained  by  it  on  a  field  of  battle;  and  per 
haps  in  time  the  example  set  by  this  land  will  be 
followed  by  others.  Dare  I  face  that  mystic,  inner 
ME  and  say:  'I  choose  my  man,  I  give  him  all  my 
life,  and  I  resign  my  birthright  of  labor.  For  this 
personal  joy  I  refuse  to  be  the  Sister  of  the  World; 
I  let  the  dream  perish;  I  hinder  a  great  work'?  Oh, 
Honora,  I  want  him,  I  want  him !  But  am  I  for  that 
reason  to  be  false  to  my  destiny?" 

389 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"You  want  celebrity!"  said  Honora  with  sudden 
bitterness.  "  You  want  to  go  to  Washington,  to  have 
your  name  numbered  among  the  leading  ones  of  the 
nation ;  you  are  not  willing  to  spend  your  days  in  the 
solitude  of  Williston  Ranch  as  wife  to  its  master." 

"I  will  not  say  that  you  are  speaking  falsely,  but 
I  think  you  know  you  are  setting  out  only  a  little 
part  of  the  truth.  Admit  it,  Honora." 

Honora  sighed  heavily. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said  at  length,  "I  do  admit  it. 
You  must  forgive  me,  Kate.  It  seems  so  easy  for 
you  two  to  be  happy  that  I  can't  help  feeling  it  blas 
phemous  for  you  to  be  anything  else.  If  it  were  an 
ordinary  marriage  or  an  ordinary  separation,  I 
should  n't  feel  so  agonized  over  it.  But  you  and 
Karl  —  such  mates  —  the  only  free  spirits  I  know ! 
How  you  would  love!  It  would  be  epic.  And  I 
should  rejoice  that  you  were  living  in  that  savage 
world  instead  of  in  a  city.  You  two  would  need 
room  —  like  great  beautiful  buildings.  Who  would 
wish  to  see  you  in  the  jumble  of  a  city?  With  you 
to  aid  him,  Karl  may  become  a  distinguished  man. 
Your  lives  would  go  on  together,  widening,  widen- 
ing-" 

"Oh!"  interrupted  Kate  with  a  sharp  ejaculation; 
"we'll  not  talk  of  it  any  more,  Honora.  You  must 
not  think  because  I  cannot  marry  him  that  he  will 
always  be  unhappy.  In  time  he  will  find  another 
woman  — " 

"Kate!  Will  you  find  another  man?" 
390 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"You  know  I  shall  not!  After  Wander?  Any  man 
would  be  an  anticlimax  to  me  after  him." 

"  Can  you  suspect  him  of  a  passion  or  a  fealty  less 
than  your  own?  If  you  refuse  to  marry  him,  I 
believe  you  will  frustrate  a  great  purpose  of  Nature. 
Why,  Kate,  it  will  be  a  crime  against  Love.  The 
thought  as  I  feel  it  means  more  —  oh,  infinitely 
more  —  than  I  can  make  the  words  convey  to  you ; 
but  you  must  think  them  over,  Kate,  —  I  beg  you 
to  think  them  over!" 

In  the  darkness,  Kate  heard  Honora  stealing 
away  to  her  room. 

So  she  was  alone,  and  the  hour  had  come  for  her 
decision. 

" '  Bitter,  alas,' "  she  quoted  to  the  rising  trouble  of 
the  sea,  "'the  sorrow  of  lonely  women.'"  The  dis 
tillation  of  that  strange  duplex  soul,  Fiona  Macleod, 
was  as  a  drop  of  poisoned  truth  upon  her  parched 
tongue. 

"We  who  love  are  those  who  suffer; 
We  who  suffer  most  are  those  who  most  do  love." 

She  went  down  upon  the  sands.  The  tongues  of 
the  sea  came  up  and  lapped  her  feet.  The  winds  of 
the  sea  enfolded  her  in  an  embrace.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  freely,  without  restraint,  bravely,  as 
sometime  she  might  face  God,  she  confronted  the 
idea  of  Love.  And  a  secret,  wonderful  knowledge 
came  to  her  —  the  knowledge  of  lovely  spiritual 
ecstasies,  the  realization  of  rich  human  delights.  Sor 
row  and  cruel  loss  might  be  on  their  way,  but  Joy 

39i 


THE  PRECIPICE 

was  hers  now.  She  feigned  that  Karl  was  waiting  for 
her  a  little  way  on  in  the  warm  darkness  —  on, 
around  that  scimitar-shaped  bend  of  the  beach.  She 
chose  to  believe  that  he  was  running  to  meet  her, 
his  eyes  aflame,  his  great  arms  outstretched;  she 
thrilled  to  the  rain  of  his  kisses;  she  thought  those 
stars  might  hear  the  voice  with  which  he  shouted, 
"Kate!" 

Then,  calmer,  yet  as  if  she  had  run  a  race,  pant 
ing,  palpitant,  she  seated  herself  on  the  sands.  She 
let  her  imagination  roam  through  the  years.  She 
saw  the  road  of  life  they  would  take  together;  how 
they  would  stand  on  peaks  of  lofty  desire,  in  sun 
light;  how,  unfaltering,  they  would  pace  tenebrous 
valleys.  Always  they  would  be  together.  Their 
laughter  would  chime  and  their  tears  would  fall 
in  unison.  Where  one  failed,  the  other  would  re 
deem;  where  one  doubted,  the  other  would  hope. 
They  would  bear  their  children  to  be  the  vehicle  of 
their  ideals — these  fresh  new  creatures,  born  of  their 
love,  would  be  trained  to  achieve  what  they,  their 
parents,  had  somehow  missed. 

Then  her  bolder  thought  died.  She,  who  had 
forced  herself  so  relentlessly  to  face  the  world  as  a 
woman  faces  it,  with  the  knowledge  and  the  cour 
age  of  maturity,  felt  her  wisdom  slip  from  her.  She 
was  a  girl,  very  lonely,  facing  a  task  too  large  tot 
her,  needing  the  comfort  of  her  lover's  word.  She 
stretched  herself  upon  the  sand,  face  downward, 
weeping,  because  she  was  afraid  of  life  —  because 

392 


THE  PRECIPICE 

she  was  wishful  for  the  joy  of  woman  and  dared 
not  take  it. 

11  Have  you  decided?"  asked  Honora  in  the  morn 
ing. 

"I  think  so,"  answered  Kate. 

Honora  scrutinized  the  face  of  her  friend. 

"Accept,"  she  said,  "my  profound  commisera 
tion."  Her  tone  seemed  to  imply  that  she  included 
contempt. 

After  this,  there  was  a  change  in  Honora's  atti 
tude  toward  her.  Kate  felt  herself  more  alone  than 
she  ever  had  been  in  her  life.  It  was  as  if  she  had 
been  cast  out  into  a  desert  —  a  sandy  plain  smitten 
with  the  relentless  Sun  of  Life,  and  in  it  was  no  house 
of  refuge,  no  comfortable  tree,  no  waters  of  healing. 
No,  nor  any  other  soul.  Alone  she  walked  there,  and 
the  only  figures  she  saw  were  those  of  the  mirage. 
It  gave  her  a  sort  of  relief  to  turn  her  face  eastward 
and  to  feel  that  she  must  traverse  the  actual  desert, 
and  come  at  the  end  to  literal  combat. 


XXXIII 

Two  dragons,  shedding  fire,  had  paused  midway 
of  the  desert.  One  was  the  Overland  Express  racing 
from  Los  Angeles  to  Kansas  City;  its  fellow  was 
headed  for  the  west.  Both  had  halted  for  fuel  and 
water  and  the  refreshment  of  the  passengers.  The 
dusk  was  gathering  over  the  illimitable  sandy  plain, 
and  the  sun,  setting  behind  wind-blown  buttes, 
wore  a  sinister  glow.  By  its  fantastic  light  the  men 
and  women  from  the  trains  paced  back  and  forth  on 
the  wide  platform,  or  visited  the  luxurious  eating- 
house,  where  palms  and  dripping  waters,  roses  and 
inviting  food  bade  them  forget  that  they  were  on 
the  desert. 

Kate  and  Honora  had  dined  and  were  walking 
back  and  forth  in  the  deep  amber  light. 

"Such  a  world  to  live  in,"  cried  Kate  admiringly, 
pressing  Honora's  arm  to  her  side.  "Do  you  know, 
of  all  the  places  that  I  might  have  imagined  as  desir 
able  for  residence,  I  believe  I  like  our  old  earth  the 
best!" 

She  was  in  an  inconsequential  mood,  and  Honora 
indulged  her  with  smiling  silence. 

"I  could  n't  have  thought  of  a  finer  desert  than 
this  if  I  had  tried,"  she  went  on  gayly.  "And  this 
wicked  saffron  glow  is  precisely  the  color  to  throw  on 
it.  What  a  mistake  it  would  have  been  if  some 

394 


THE   PRECIPICE 

supernal  electrician  had  dropped  a  green  or  a  blue 
spot-light  on  the  scene!  Now,  just  hear  that  foun 
tain  dripping  and  that  ground-wind  whispering! 
Who  would  n't  live  in  the  arid  lands?  It's  all  as  it 
should  be.  So  are  you,  too,  are  n't  you,  Honora? 
You've  forgiven  me,  too,  I  know  you  have;  and 
you  're  getting  stronger  every  day,  and  making  ready 
for  happiness,  are  n't  you?" 

She  leaned  forward  to  look  in  her  companions  face. 

"Oh,  yes,  Kate,"  said  Honora.  "It  really  is  as  it 
should  be  with  me.  I'm  looking  forward,  now,  to 
what  is  to  come.  To  begin  with,  there  are  the  chil 
dren  shining  like  little  stars  at  the  end  of  my  journey; 
and  there's  the  necessity  of  working  for  them.  I  'm 
glad  of  that  —  I  'm  glad  I  have  to  work  for  them. 
Perhaps  I  shall  be  offered  a  place  at  the  University 
of  Wisconsin.  I  think  I  should  be  if  I  gave  any  indi 
cation  that  I  had  such  a  desire.  The  president  and  I 
are  old  friends.  Oh,  yes,  indeed,  I  'm  very  thankful 
that  I  'm  able  to  look  forward  again  with  something 
like  expectancy  — " 

The  words  died  on  her  lips.  She  was  arrested  as  if 
an  angry  god  had  halted  her.  Kate,  startled,  looked 
up.  Before  them,  marble-faced  and  hideously 
abashed,  —  yet  beautiful  with  an  insistent  beauty, 
—  stood  Mary  Morrison,  like  Honora,  static  with 
pain. 

It  seemed  as  if  it  must  be  a  part  of  that  fantastic, 
dream-like  scene.  So  many  visions  were  born  of  the 
desert  that  this,  not  unreasonably,  might  be  one. 

395 


THE  PRECIPICE 

But,  no,  these  two  women  who  had  played  their 
parts  in  an  appalling  drama,  were  moving,  involun 
tarily,  as  it  seemed,  nearer  to  each  other.  For  a 
second  Kate  thought  of  dragging  Honora  away,  till  it 
came  to  her  by  some  swift  message  of  the  spirit  that 
Honora  did  not  wish  to  avoid  this  encounter.  Per 
haps  it  seemed  to  her  like  a  fulfillment  —  the  last 
strain  of  a  wild  and  dissonant  symphony.  It  was  the 
part  of  greater  kindness  to  drop  her  arm  and  stand 
apart. 

"Shall  we  speak,  Mary,"  said  Honora  at  length. 
"Or  shall  we  pass  on  in  silence?" 

"  It  is  n't  for  me  to  say,"  wavered  the  other.  "Any 
way,  it's  too  late  for  words  to  matter." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Honora.   "Quite  too  late." 

They  continued  to  stare  at  each  other — so  like, 
yet  so  unlike.  It  was  Honora's  face  which  was  rav 
aged,  though  Mary  had  sinned  the  sin.  True,  pallor 
and  pain  were  visible  in  Mary's  face,  even  in  the  dis 
guising  light  of  that  strange  hour  and  place,  but  back 
of  it  Kate  perceived  her  indestructible  frivolity.  She 
surmised  how  rapidly  the  scenes  of  Mary's  drama 
would  succeed  each  other ;  how  remorse  would  yield 
to  regret,  regret  to  diminishing  grief,  grief  to  hope, 
hope  to  fresh  adventures  with  life.  Here  in  all  verity 
was  "the  eternal  feminine,"  fugitive,  provocative, 
i  unspiritualized,  and  shrinking  the  one  quality,  fecun 
dity,  which  could  have  justified  it. 

But  Honora  was  speaking,  and  her  low  tones, 
charged  with  a  mortal  grief,  were  audible  above  the 

396 


THE  PRECIPICE 

tramping  of  many  feet,  the  throbbing  of  the  engines, 
and  the  talking  and  the  laughter. 

"If  you  had  stayed  to  die  with  him,"  she  was  say 
ing,  "  I  could  have  forgiven  you  everything,  because 
I  should  have  known  then  that  you  loved  him  as  he 
hungered  to  be  loved." 

"  He  would  n't  let  me,"  Mary  wailed.  "  Honestly, 
Honora  — " 

"Would  n't  let  you!"  The  scorn  whipped  Mary's 
face  scarlet. 

"Nobody  wants  to  die,  Honora!"  pleaded  the 
other.  "  You  wouldn't  yourself,  when  it  came  to  it." 

A  child  might  have  spoken  so.  The  puerility  of 
the  words  caused  Honora  to  check  her  speech.  She 
looked  with  a  merciless  scrutiny  at  that  face  in  which 
the  dimples  would  come  and  go  even  at  such  a  mo 
ment  as  this.  The  long  lashes  curled  on  the  cheeks 
with  unconscious  coquetry ;  the  eyes,  that  had  looked 
on  horrors,  held  an  intrinsic  brilliance.  The  Earth 
itself,  with  its  perpetual  renewals,  was  not  more 
essentially  expectant  than  this  woman. 

Honora's  amazement  at  her  cousin's  hedonism 
gave  way  to  contempt  for  it. 

"Oh,"  she  groaned,  "to  have  had  the  power  to 
destroy  a  great  man  and  to  have  no  knowledge  of 
what  you  Ve  done !  To  have  lived  through  all  that 
you  have,  and  to  have  got  no  soul,  after  all!" 

She  had  stepped  back  as  if  to  measure  the  luscious 
opulence  of  Mary's  form  with  an  eye  of  passionate 
depreciation. 

397 


THE   PRECIPICE 

"Stop  her,  Miss  Barrington,"  cried  Mary,  seizing 
Kate's  arm.  "There's  no  use  in  all  this,  and  people 
will  overhear.  Can't  you  take  her  away?" 

She  might  have  gazed  at  the  Medusa's  head  as  she 
gazed  at  Honora's. 

"Come,"  said  Kate  to  Honora.  "As  Miss  Morri 
son  says,  there's  no  use  in  all  this." 

"If  David  and  I  did  wrong,  it  was  quite  as  much 
Honora's  fault  as  mine,  really  it  was,"  urged  "Blue- 
eyed  Mary,"  her  childish  voice  choking. 
i  Kate  shook  her  hand  off  and  looked  at  her  from  a 
height. 

"  Don't  dare  to  discuss  that,"  she  warned.  "  Don't 
dare!" 

She  threw  her  arm  around  Honora. 

"  Do  come,"  she  pleaded.  "All  this  will  make  you 
worse  again." 

"I  don't  wish  you  ill,"  continued  Honora,  seem 
ing  not  to  hear  and  still  addressing  herself  to  Mary. 
"  I  know  you  will  live  on  in  luxury  somehow  or  other, 
and  that  good  men  will  fetch  and  carry  for  you.  You 
exude  an  essence  which  they  can  no  more  resist  than 
a  bee  can  honey.  I  don't  blame  you.  That's  what 
you  were  born  for.  But  don't  think  that  makes  a 
woman  of  you.  You  never  can  be  a  woman !  Women 
have  souls ;  they  suffer ;  they  love  and  work  and  for 
get  themselves;  they  know  how  to  go  down  to  the 
gates  of  death.  You  don't  know  how  to  do  any  of 
those  things,  now,  do  you?" 

She  had  grown  terrible,  and  her  questions  had  the 
398 


THE  PRECIPICE 

effect  of  being  spoken  by  some  daemonic  thing  within 
her  —  something  that  made  of  her  mouth  a  medium 
as  the  priestesses  did  of  the  mouths  of  the  ancient 
oracles. 

"Miss  Harrington,"  shuddered  Mary,  "I'm  try 
ing  to  hold  on  to  myself,  but  I  don't  think  I  can  do  it 
much  longer.  Something  is  hammering  at  my  throat. 
I  feel  as  if  I  were  being  strangled  — "  she  was  chok 
ing  in  the  grasp  of  hysteria. 

Kate  drew  Honora  away  with  a  determined  vio 
lence. 

"She'll  be  screaming  horribly  in  a  minute,"  she 
said.  "You  don't  want  to  hear  that,  do  you?" 

Honora  gave  one  last  look  at  the  miserable 
girl. 

"Of  course,  you  know,"  she  said,  throwing  into 
her  words  an  intensity  which  burned  like  acid,  "that 
he  did  not  die  for  you,  Mary.  He  died  to  save  his 
soul  alive.  He  died  to  find  himself  —  and  me.  Just 
that  much  I  have  to  have  you  know." 

At  that  Kate  forced  her  to  go  into  the  Pullman, 
and  seated  her  by  the  window  where  the  rising  wind, 
bringing  its  tale  of  eternal  solitude,  eternal  barren 
ness,  could  fan  her  cheek.  A  gentleman  who  had 
been  pacing  the  platform  alone  approached  Mary 
and  seemed  to  offer  her  assistance  with  anxious 
solicitude.  She  drooped  upon  his  arm,  and  as  she 
passed  beneath  the  window  the  odor  of  her  perfumes 
stole  to  Honora's  nostrils. 

"How  dare  she  walk  beneath  my  window?" 
399 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Honora  demanded  of  Kate.  "  Is  n't  she  afraid  I  may 
kill  her?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  she  is,  Honora.  Why  should 
she  suspect  anything  ignoble  of  you?" 

Silence  fell.  A  dull  golden  star  blossomed  in  the 
West. 

"All  aboard!  All  aboard!"  called  the  conductors. 
The  people  began  straggling  toward  their  trains, 
laughing  their  farewells. 

"Hope  I '11  meet  you  again  sometime!" 

"East  or  West,  home's  the  best." 

"You're  sure  you're  not  going  on  my  train?" 

"Me  for  God's  country!  You'll  find  nothing  but 
fleas  and  flubdub  on  the  Coast." 

"You'll  be  back  again  next  year,  just  the  same. 
Everybody  comes  back." 

"All  aboard!    All  aboard!" 

"God  willing,"  said  Honora,  "I  shall  never  see 
her  again." 

Suddenly  she  ceased  to  be  primitive  and  became  a 
civilized  woman  with  a  trained  conscience  and  arti 
ficial  solicitude. 

"How  do  you  suppose  she's  going  to  live,  Kate? 
She  had  no  money.  Will  David  have  made  any 
arrangement  for  her?  Oughtn't  I  to  see  to  that?" 

"You  are  neither  to  kill  nor  pension  her,"  said 
Kate  angrily.  "Keep  still,  Honora." 

The  fiery  worms  became  active,  and  threshed 
their  way  across  the  fast-chilling  and  silent  plain. 
On  the  eastbound  one  two  women  sat  in  heavy  rev- 

400 


THE  PRECIPICE 

erie.  On  the  westbound  one  a  group  of  solicitous 
ladies  and  gentlemen  gathered  about  a  golden- 
haired  daughter  of  California  offering  her  sal  vola 
tile,  claret,  brandy-and-water.  She  chose  the  claret 
and  sipped  it  tremblingly.  Its  deep  hue  answered 
the  glow  in  the  great  ruby  in  her  ring.  By  a  chance 
her  eye  caught  it  and  she  turned  the  jewel  toward 
her  palm. 

"A  superb  stone,"  commented  one  of  the  kindly 
group.  "You  purchased  it  abroad?"  The  inquiry 
was  meant  to  distract  her  thoughts.  It  did  not  quite 
succeed.  She  put  the  wine  from  her  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands,  for  suddenly  she  was  assailed 
by  a  memory  of  the  burning  kisses  with  which  that 
gem  had  been  placed  upon  her  finger  by  lips  now 
many  fathoms  beneath  the  surface  of  the  sun- 
warmed  world. 


XXXIV 

KATE  and  Honora  left  the  train  at  the  station  of 
Wander,  and  the  man  for  whom  it  was  named  was 
there  to  meet  them.  If  it  was  summer  with  the  world, 
it  was  summer  with  him,  too.  Some  new  plenitude 
had  come  to  him  since  Kate  had  seen  him  last.  His 
full  manhood  seemed  to  be  realized.  A  fine  serious 
ness  invested  him  —  a  seriousness  which  included, 
the  observer  felt  sure,  all  imaginable  fit  forms  of  joy. 
Clothed  in  gray,  save  for  the  inevitable  sombrero, 
clean-shaven,  bright-eyed,  capable,  renewed  with 
hope,  he  took  both  women  with  a  protecting  gesture 
into  his  embrace.  The  three  rejoiced  together  in  that 
honest  demonstration  which  seems  permissible  in  the 
West,  where  social  forms  and  fears  have  not  much 
foothold. 

They  talked  as  happily  of  little  things  as  if  great 
ones  were  not  occupying  their  minds.  To  listen,  one 
would  have  thought  that  only  "little  joys"  and 
small  vexations  had  come  their  way.  It  would  be  by 
looking  into  their  faces  that  one  could  see  the  marks 
of  passion  —  the  passion  of  sorrow,  of  love,  of  sacri 
fice. 

As  they  came  out  of  the  pinon  grove,  Honora  dis 
covered  her  babies.  They  were  in  white,  fresh  as 
lilies,  or,  perhaps,  as  little  angels,  well  beloved  of 
heavenly  mothers ;  and  they  came  running  from  the 

402 


THE  PRECIPICE 

house,  their  golden  hair  shining  like  aureoles  about 
their  eager  faces.  Their  sandaled  feet  hardly  touched 
the  ground,  and,  indeed,  could  they  have  been 
weighed  at  that  moment,  it  surely  had  been  found 
that  they  had  become  almost  imponderable  because 
of  the  ethereal  lightness  of  their  spirits.  Their  arms 
were  outstretched ;  their  eyes  burning  like  the  eyes  of 
seraphs. 

"Stop!"  cried  Honora  to  Karl  in  a  choking  voice. 
He  drew  up  his  restless,  home-bound  horses,  and  she 
leaped  to  the  ground.  As  she  ran  toward  her  little 
ones  on  swift  feet,  the  two  who  watched  her  were 
convinced  that  she  had  regained  her  old-time  vigor, 
and  had  acquired  an  eloquence  of  personality  which 
never  before  had  been  hers.  She  gathered  her  treas 
ures  in  her  arms  and  walked  with  them  to  the  house. 

Kate  had  not  many  minutes  to  wait  in  the  living- 
room  before  Wander  joined  her.  It  was  a  long  room, 
with  triplicate,  lofty  windows  facing  the  mountains 
which  wheeled  in  majestic  semicircle  from  north 
to  west.  At  this  hour  the  purple  shadows  were  gath 
ering  on  them,  and  great  peace  and  beauty  lay  over 
the  world. 

There  was  but  one  door  to  this  room  and  Wander 
closed  it. 

"I  may  as  well  know  my  fate  now,"  he  said. 
"I've  waited  for  this  from  the  moment  I  saw  you 
last.  Are  you  going  to  be  my  wife,  Kate?  " 

He  stood  facing  her,  breathing  rather  heavily, 
his  face  commanded  to  a  tense  repose. 

403 


THE  PRECIPICE 

"My  answer  is  'no,'  "  cried  Kate,  holding  out  her 
hands  to  him.  "  I  love  you  as  my  life,  and  my  answer 
is 'no.'" 

He  took  the  hands  she  had  extended. 

"Kiss  me!"  He  gathered  her  into  his  arms,  and 
upon  her  welcoming  lips  he  laid  his  own  in  such  a 
kiss  as  a  man  places  upon  but  one  woman's  lips. 

"Now,  what  is  your  answer?"  he  breathed  after 
a  time.  "Tell  me  your  answer  now,  you  much-loved 
woman  —  tell  it,  beloved." 

She  kissed  his  brow  and  his  eyes ;  he  felt  her  tears 
upon  his  cheeks. 

"You  know  all  that  I  have  thought  and  felt,"  she 
said;  "you  know  —  for  I  have  written  —  what  my 
life  may  be.  Do  you  ask  me  to  let  it  go  and  to  live 
here  in  this  solitude  with  you?" 

"Yes,  by  heaven,"  he  said,  his  eyes  blazing,  "I 
ask  it." 

Some  influence  had  gone  out  from  them  which 
seemed  to  create  a  palpitant  atmosphere  of  delight 
in  which  they  stood.  It  was  as  if  the  spiritual  essence 
of  them,  mingling,  had  formed  the  perfect  fluid  of 
the  soul,  in  which  it  was  a  privilege  to  live  and 
breathe  and  dream. 

"I  am  so  blessed  in  you,"  whispered  Karl,  "so 
completed  by  you,  that  I  cannot  let  you  go,  even 
though  you  go  on  to  great  usefulness  and  great 
goodness.  I  tell  you,  your  place  is  here  in  my  home. 
It  is  safe  here.  I  have  seen  you  standing  on  a  preci 
pice,  Kate,  up  there  in  the  mountain.  I  warned  you 

404 


THE  PRECIPICE 

of  its  danger;  you  told  me  of  its  glory.  But  I  repeat 
my  warning  now,  for  I  see  you  venturing  on  to  that 
precipice  of  loneliness  and  fame  on  which  none  but 
sad  and  lonely  women  stand." 

"Oh,  I  know  what  you  say  is  true,  Karl.  I  mean 
to  do  my  work  with  all  the  power  there  is  in  me,  and 
I  shall  be  rejoicing  in  that  and  in  Life — it's  in  me 
to  be  glad  merely  that  I  'm  living.  But  deep  within 
my  heart  I  shall,  as  you  say,  be  both  lonely  and  sad. 
If  there's  any  comfort  in  that  for  you  —  " 

"No,  there's  no  comfort  at  all  for  me  in  that, 
Kate.  Stay  with  me,  stay  with  me!  Be  my  wife. 
Why,  it's  your  destiny." 

Kate  crossed  the  room  as  if  she  would  move  be 
yond  that  aura  which  vibrated  about  him  and  in 
which  she  could  not  stand  without  a  too  dangerous 
delight.  She  was  very  pale,  but  she  carried  her  head 
high  still  —  almost  defiantly. 

"I  mean  to  be  the  mother  to  many,  many  chil 
dren,  Karl,"  she  said  in  a  voice  which  thrilled  with 
sorrow  and  pride  and  a  strange  joy.  "To  thousands 
and  thousands  of  children.  But  for  the  Idea  I  rep 
resent  and  the  work  I  mean  to  do  they  would  be 
trampled  in  the  dust  of  the  world.  Can't  you  see  that 
I  am  called  to  this  as  men  are  called  to  honorable 
services  for  their  country?  This  is  a  woman's  form 
of  patriotism.  It's  a  higher  one  than  the  soldier's, 
I  think.  It 's  come  my  way  to  be  the  banner-carrier, 
and  I  'm  glad  of  it.  I  take  my  chance  and  my  honor 
just  as  you  would  take  your  chance  and  your  honor. 

405 


THE   PRECIPICE 

But  I  could  resign  the  glory,  Karl,  for  your  love,  and 
count  it  worth  while." 

"Kate—" 

"But  the  thing  to  which  I  am  faithful  is  my  op 
portunity  for  great  service.  Come  with  me,  Karl,  my 
dear.  Think  how  we  could  work  together  in  Wash 
ington  —  think  what  such  a  brain  and  heart  as 
yours  would  mean  to  a  new  cause.  We'd  lose  our 
selves  —  and  find  ourselves  —  laboring  for  one  of 
the  kindest,  lovingest  ideas  the  hard  old  world  has 
yet  devised.  Will  you  come  and  help  me,  Karl, 
man?" 

He  moved  toward  her,  his  hands  outspread  with 
a  protesting  gesture. 

"You  know  that  all  my  work  is  here,  Kate.  This 
is  my  home,  these  mines  are  mine,  the  town  is  mine. 
It  is  not  only  my  own  money  which  is  invested,  but 
the  money  of  other  men  —  friends  who  have  trusted 
me  and  whose  prosperity  depends  upon  me." 

"Oh,  but,  Karl,  are  n't  there  ways  of  arranging 
such  things?  You  say  I  am  dear  to  you  —  transfer 
your  interests  and  come  with  me  —  Karl!"  Her 
voice  was  a  pleader's,  yet  it  kept  its  pride. 

"Kate!  How  can  I?  Do  you  want  me  to  be  a 
supplement  to  you  —  a  hanger-on?  Don't  you  see 
that  you  would  make  me  ridiculous?  " 

"Would  I?"  said  Kate.  "Does  it  seem  that  way 
to  you?  Then  you  have  n't  learned  to  respect  me, 
after  all." 

"I  worship  you,"  he  cried. 
406 


THE   PRECIPICE 

Kate  smiled  sadly. 

"I  know,"  she  said,  "but  worship  passes — " 

"No  — "  he  flung  out,  starting  toward  her. 

But  she  held  him  back  with  a  gesture. 

"You  have  stolen  my  word,"  she  said  with  an 
accent  of  finality.  " '  No' "  is  the  word  you  force  me 
to  speak.  I  am  going  on  to  Washington  in  the  morn 
ing,  Karl." 

They  heard  the  children  running  down  the  hall 
and  pounding  on  the  door  with  their  soft  fists.  When 
Kate  opened  to  them,  they  clambered  up  her  skirts. 
She  lifted  them  in  her  arms,  and  Karl  saw  their  sunny 
heads  nestling  against  her  dark  one.  As  she  left  the 
room,  moving  unseeingly,  she  heard  the  hard-wrung 
groan  that  came  from  his  lips. 

A  moment  later,  as  she  mounted  the  stairs,  she 
saw  him  striding  up  the  trail  which  they,  together, 
had  ascended  once  when  the  sun  of  their  hope  was 
still  high. 

She  did  not  meet  him  again  that  day.  She  and 
Honora  ate  ^heir  meals  in  silence,  Honora  dark  with 
disapproval,  Kate  clinging  to  her  spar  of  spiritual 
integrity. 

If  tha^"no"  thundered  in  Karl's  ears  the  night 
through  while  he  kept  the  company  of  his  ancient 
comforters  the  mountains,  no  less  did  it  beat  shat- 
teringly  in  the  ears  of  the  woman  who  had  spoken  it. 

"No,"  to  the  deep  and  mystic  human  joys;  "no" 
to  the  most  holy  privilege  of  women;  "no"  to  light 

407 


THE  PRECIPICE 

laughter  and  a  dancing  heart;  "no"  to  the  lowly, 

(satisfying  labor  of  a  home.  For  her  the  steep  path, 
alone;  for  her  the  precipice.  From  it  she  might  be 
hold  the  sunrise  and  all  the  glory  of  the  world,  but 
no  exalted  sense  of  duty  or  of  victory  could  blind  her 
to  its  solitude  and  to  its  danger. 

Yet  now,  if  ever,  women  must  be  true  to  the  cause 
of  liberty.  They  had  been,  through  all  the  ages,  will 
ing  martyrs  to  the  general  good.  Now  it  was  laid 
upon  them  to  assume  the  responsibilities  of  a  new 
crusade,  to  undertake  a  fresh  martyrdom,  and  this 
time  it  was  for  themselves.  Leagued  against  them 
was  half  —  quite  half  —  of  their  sex.  Vanity  and 
prettiness,  dalliance  and  dependence  were  their  char 
acteristics.  With  a  shrug  of  half-bared  shoulders 
they  dismissed  all  those  who,  painfully,  nobly, 
gravely,  were  fighting  to  restore  woman's  connec 
tion  with  reality — to  put  her  back,  somehow,  into  the 
procession;  to  make,  by  new  methods,  the  "  com 
ing  lady"  as  essential  to  the  commonwealth  as  was 
the  old-time  chatelaine  before  commercialism  filched 
her  vocations  and  left  her  the  most  cultivated  and 
useless  of  parasites. 

Oh,  it  was  no  little  thing  for  which  she  was  fight 
ing!  Kate  tried  to  console  herself  with  that.  If  she 
passionately  desired  to  create  an  organization  which 
should  exercise  parental  powers  over  orphaned  or 
poorly  guarded  children,  still  more  did  she  wish  to  set 
an  example  of  efficiency  for  women,  illustrating  to 
them  with  how  firm  a  step  woman  might  tread  the 

408 


THE  PRECIPICE 

higher  altitudes  of  public  life,  making  an  achieve 
ment,  not  a  compromise,  of  labor. 

Moreover,  no  other  woman  in  the  country  had  at 
present  had  an  opportunity  that  equaled  her  own. 
Look  at  it  how  she  would,  throb  as  she  might  with 
a  woman's  immemorial  nostalgia  for  a  true  man's 
love,  she  could  not  escape  the  relentless  logic  of  the 
situation.  It  was  not  the  hour  for  her  to  choose  her 
own  pleasure.  She  must  march  to  battle  leaving 
love  behind,  as  the  heroic  had  done  since  love  and 
combat  were  known  to  the  world. 


XXXV 

MORNING  came.  She  was  called  early  that  she 
might  take  the  train  for  the  East,  and  arising  from 
her  sleepless  bed  she  summoned  her  courage  impera 
tively.  She  determined  that,  however  much  she 
might  suffer  from  the  reproaches  of  her  inner  self,  — 
that  mystic  and  hidden  self  which  so  often  refuses 
to  abide  by  the  decisions  of  the  brain  and  the  con 
science,  —  she  would  not  betray  her  falterings.  So 
she  was  able  to  go  down  to  the  breakfast-room  with 
an  alert  step  and  a  sufficiently  gallant  carriage  of  the 
head. 

Honora  was  there,  as  pale  as  Kate  herself,  and  she 
did  not  scruple  to  turn  upon  her  departing  guest  a 
glance  both  regretful  and  forbidding.  Kate  looked 
across  the  breakfast-table  at  her  gloomy  aspect. 

"Honora,"  she  said  with  some  exasperation, 
"you've  walked  your  path,  and  it  was  n't  the  usual 
one,  now,  was  it?  But  I  stood  fast  for  your  right 
to  be  unusual,  did  n't  I?  Then,  when  the  whole 
scheme  of  things  went  to  pieces  and  you  were  suffer 
ing,  I  did  n't  lay  your  misfortune  to  the  singularity 
of  your  life.  I  knew  that  thousands  and  thousands 
of  women,  who  had  done  the  usual  thing  and  chosen 
the  beaten  way,  had  suffered  just  as  much  as  you. 
I  tried  to  give  you  a  hand  up  —  blunderingly,  I 

410 


THE  PRECIPICE 

suppose,  but  I  did  the  best  I  could.  Of  course,  I  'm  a 
beast  for  reminding  you  of  it.  But  what  I  want  to 
know  is,  why  you  should  be  looking  at  me  with  the 
eyes  of  a  stony-hearted  critic  because  I  'm  taking  the 
hardest  road  for  myself.  You  don't  suppose  I'd 
do  it  without  sufficient  reason,  do  you?  Standing 
at  the  parting  of  the  ways  is  a  serious  matter,  how 
ever  interesting  it  may  be  at  the  moment." 

Honora's  face  flushed  and  her  eyes  filled. 

''Oh,"  she  cried,  "  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  putting 
happiness  behind  you.  What's  the  use?  Don't  you 
realize  that  men  and  women  are  little  more  than 
motes  in  the  sunshine,  here  for  an  hour  and  to 
morrow  —  nothing !  I  'm  pretty  well  through  with 
those  theories  that  people  call  principles  and  con 
victions.  Why  not  be  obedient  to  Nature?  She's 
the  great  teacher.  Does  n't  she  tell  you  to  take  love 
and  joy  when  they  come  your  way?" 

"We've  threshed  all  that  out,  have  n't  we?" 
asked  Kate  impatiently.  "Why  go  over  the  ground 
again?  But  I  must  say,  if  a  woman  of  your  intelli 
gence  —  and  my  friend  at  that  —  can't  see  why  I  'm 
taking  an  uphill  road,  alone,  instead  of  walking  in 
a  pleasant  valley  with  the  best  of  companions,  then 
I  can  hardly  expect  any  one  else  to  sympathize  with 
me.  However,  what  does  it  matter?  I  said  I  was 
going  alone  so  why  should  I  complain?" 

Her  glance  fell  on  the  fireplace  before  which  she 
and  Karl  had  sat  the  night  when  he  first  welcomed 
her  beneath  his  roof.  She  remembered  the  wild 

411 


THE  PRECIPICE 

silence  of  the  hour,  the  sense  she  had  had  of  the  in 
visible  presence  of  the  mountains,  and  how  Karl's 
love  had  streamed  about  her  like  shafts  of  light. 

"I've  seen  nothing  of  Karl,"  said  Honora 
abruptly.  "He  went  up  the  trail  yesterday  morn 
ing,  and  has  n't  been  back  to  the  house  since." 

"He  did  n't  come  home  last  night?  He  did  n't 
sleep  in  his  bed?" 

"No,  I  tell  you.  He's  had  the  Door  of  Life 
slammed  in  his  face,  and  I  suppose  he's  pretty 
badly  humiliated.  Karl  is  n't  cut  out  to  be  a  beggar 
hanging  about  the  gates,  is  he?  Pence  and  crumbs 
would  n't  interest  him.  I  wonder  if  you  have  any 
idea  how  a  man  like  that  can  suffer?  Do  you  im 
agine  he  is  another  Ray  McCrea?" 

"Pour  my  coffee,  please,  Honora,"  said  Kate. 

Honora  took  the  hint  and  said  no  more,  while 
Kate  hastily  ate  her  breakfast.  When  she  had  fin 
ished  she  said  as  she  left  the  table :  — 

" I'd  be  glad  if  you '11  tell  the  stable-man  that  I '11 
not  take  the  morning  train.  I'm  sorry  to  change 
my  mind,  but  it's  unavoidable." 

The  smart  traveling-suit  she  had  purchased  in 
Los  Angeles  was  her  equipment  that  morning.  To 
this  she  added  her  hat  and  traveling- veil. 

" If  you're  going  up  the  mountain,"  said  the  mal 
adroit  Honora,  "better  not  wear  those  things. 
They'll  be  ruined." 

"Oh,  things!"  cried  Kate  angrily.  She  stopped 
at  the  doorway.  "That  was  n't  decent  of  you, 

412 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Honora.  I  am  going  up  the  mountain  —  but  what 
right  had  you  to  suppose  it?" 

The  whole  household  knew  it  a  moment  later  — 
the  maids,  the  men  at  the  stables  and  the  corral. 
They  knew  it,  but  they  thought  more  of  her.  She 
went  so  proudly,  so  openly.  The  judgment  they 
might  have  passed  upon  lesser  folk,  they  set  aside 
where  Wander  and  his  resistant  sweetheart  were 
concerned.  They  did  not  know  the  theater,  these 
Western  men  and  women,  but  they  recognized 
drama  when  they  saw  it.  Their  deep  love  of  romance 
was  satisfied  by  these  lovers,  so  strong,  so  compell 
ing,  who  moved  like  demigods  in  their  unconcern  for 
the  opinions  of  others. 

Kate  climbed  the  trail  which  she  and  Wander  had 
taken  together  on  the  day  when  she  had  mockingly 
proclaimed  her  declaration  of  independence.  She 
smiled  bitterly  now  to  think  of  the  futility  of  it.  In 
dependence?  For  whom  did  such  a  thing  exist? 
Karl  Wander  was  drawing  her  to  him  as  that  moun 
tain  of  lode  in  the  Yellowstone  drew  the  lightnings 
of  heaven. 

In  time  she  came  to  the  bench  beside  the  torrent 
where  she  and  Wander  had  rested  that  other,  unfor 
gettable  day.  She  paused  there  now  for  a  long  time, 
for  the  path  was  steep  and  the  altitude  great.  The 
day  had  turned  gray  and  a  cold  wind  was  arising  — 
a  crying  wind,  that  wailed  among  the  tumbled 
boulders  and  drove  before  it  clouds  of  somber  hue. 

After  a  time  she  went  on,  and  as  she  mounted, 


THE  PRECIPICE 

encountering  ever  a  steeper  and  more  difficult  way, 
she  tore  the  leather  of  her  shoes,  rent  the  skirt  of 
her  traveling-frock,  and  ruined  her  gloves  with  soil 
and  rock. 

"If  I  have  to  go  back  as  I  came,  alone,"  she  re 
flected,  "all  in  tatters  like  this,  to  find  that  he  is  at 
the  mines  or  the  village,  attending  to  his  work,  I 
shall  cut  a  fine  figure,  shan't  I  ?  The  very  gods  will 
laugh  at  me." 

She  flamed  scarlet  at  the  thought,  but  she  did  not 
turn  back. 

Presently  she  came  to  a  place  where  the  path 
forked.  A  very  narrow,  appallingly  deep  gorge  split 
the  mountain  at  this  point,  each  path  skirting  a  side 
of  this  crevasse. 

"I  choose  the  right  path,"  said  Kate  aloud. 

Her  heart  and  lungs  were  again  rebelling  at  the 
altitude  and  the  exertion,  and  she  was  forced  to  lie 
flat  for  a  long  time.  She  lay  with  her  face  to  the  sky 
watching  the  roll  of  the  murky  clouds.  Above  her 
towered  the  cre.st  of  the  mountain,  below  her 
stretched  the  abyss.  It  was  a  place  where  one  might 
draw  apart  from  all  the  world  and  contemplate  the 
little  thing  that  men  call  Life.  Neither  ecstasy  nor 
despair  came  to  her,  though  some  such  excesses  might 
have  been  expected  of  one  whose  troubled  mind  con 
templated  such  magnificence,  such  terrific  beauty. 
Instead,  she  seemed  to  face  the  great  soul  of  Truth 
—  to  arrive  at  a  conclusion  of  perfect  sanity,  of  fine 
reasonableness. 

414 


THE  PRECIPICE 

Conventions,  pettiness,  foolish  pride,  wayward 
ness,  secret  egotism,  fell  away  from  her.  The  customs 
of  society,  with  what  was  valuable  in  them  and 
what  was  inadequate,  assumed  their  true  propor 
tions.  It  was  as  if  her  House  of  Life  had  been  swept 
of  fallacy  by  the  besom  of  the  mountain  wind.  A 
feeling  of  strength,  courage,  and  clarity  took  pos 
session  of  her.  There  was  an  expectation,  too,  — 
nay,  the  conviction,  —  that  an  event  was  at  hand 
fraught  for  her  with  vast  significance. 

The  trail,  almost  perpendicular  now,  led  up  a 
mighty  rock.  She  pulled  herself  up,  and  emerging 
upon  the  crown  of  the  mountain,  beheld  the  proud 
peaks  of  the  Rockies,  bare  or  snow-capped,  dripping 
with  purple  and  gray  mists,  sweeping  majestically 
into  the  distance.  Such  solemnity,  such  dark  and 
passionate  beauty,  she  never  yet  had  seen,  though 
she  was  by  this  time  no  stranger  to  the  Rockies,  and 
she  had  looked  upon  the  wonders  of  the  Sierras.  She 
envisaged  as  much  of  this  sublimity  as  eye  and  brain 
might  hold;  then,  at  a  noise,  glanced  at  that  tortu 
ous  trail  —  yet  more  difficult  than  the  one  she  had 
taken  —  which  skirted  the  other  side  of  the  con 
tinuing  crevasse. 

On  it  stood  Karl  Wander,  not  as  she  had  seen  him 
last,  impatient,  racked  with  mental  pain,  and  torn 
with  pride  and  eager  love.  He  was  haggard,  but  he 
had  arrived  at  peace.  He  was  master  over  himself 
and  no  longer  the  creature  of  futile  torments.  To 
such  a  man  a  woman  might  well  capitulate  if  cap- 

415 


THE  PRECIPICE 

itulation  was  her  intent.  With  such  a  chieftain  might 
one  well  treat  if  one  had  a  mind  to  maintain  the 
suzerainty  of  one's  soul. 

The  wind  assailed  Kate  violently,  and  she  caught 
at  a  spur  of  rock  and  clung,  while  her  traveling- 
veil,  escaped  from  bounds,  flung  out  like  a  "home- 
going"  pennant  of  a  ship. 

"A  flag  of  truce,  Kate?"  thundered  Wander's 
voice. 

"Will  you  receive  it?"  cried  Kate. 

Now  that  she  had  sought  and  found  him,  she 
would  not  surrender  without  one  glad  glory  of  the 
hour. 

"Name  your  conditions,  beloved  enemy." 

"How  can  we  talk  like  this?" 

"We're  not  talking.     We're  shouting." 

"Is  there  no  way  across?" 

"Only  for  eagles." 

"What  did  you  mean  by  staying  up  here?  I  was 
terrified.  What  if  you  had  been  dying  alone  — " 

"  I  came  up  to  think  things  out." 

"Have  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Well?" 

"Kate,  we  must  be  married." 

"Yes,"  laughed  Kate.   "I  know  it." 

"But—" 

"Yes,"  called  Kate,  "that's  it.     But  — " 
*    "But  you  shall  do  your  work:  I  shall  do  mine." 

"1  know,"  said  Kate.    "That's  what  I  meant  to, 
416 


THE  PRECIPICE 

say  to  you.    There's  more  than  one  way  of  being 
happy  and  good." 

"Go  your  way,  Kate.  Go  to  your  great  under 
taking.  Go  as  my  wife.  I  stay  with  my  task.  It  may 
carry  me  farther  and  bring  me  more  honor  than  we 
yet  know.  I  shall  go  to  you  when  I  can:  you  must 
come  to  me  —  when  you  will.  What  more  exhila 
rating?  A  few  years  will  bring  changes.  I  hear  they 
may  send  me  to  Washington,  after  all.  But  they  '11 
not  need  to  send  me.  Lead  where  you  will,  I  will 
follow  —  on  condition!" 

"The  condition?" 

She  stood  laughing  at  him,  shining  at  him,  free 
and  proud  as  the  "victory"  of  a  sculptor's  dream. 
'  "That  you  follow  my  leadership  in  turn.  We'll 
have  a  Republic  of  Souls,  Kate,  with  equal  oppor 
tunity  —  none  less,  none  greater  —  with  high  ex 
pediency  for  the  watchword." 

"Yes.  Oh,  Karl,  I  came  to  say  all  this!" 

"Then  some  day  we'll  settle  down  beneath  one 
roof  —  we'll  have  a  hearthstone." 

"Yes,"  cried  Kate  again,  this  time  with  an  accent 
that  drowned  forever  the  memory  of  her  "no." 

"Turn  about,  Kate;  turn  about  and  go  down  the 
trail.  You'll  have  to  do  it  alone,  I 'm  afraid.  I  can't 
get  over  there  to  help." 

"I  don't  need  help,"  retorted  Kate.  "It's  fine 
doing  it  alone." 

"Follow  your  path,  and  I  will  follow  mine.  We 
can  keep  in  sight  almost  all  the  way,  I  think,  and, 

417 


THE   PRECIPICE 

as  you  know,  a  little  below  this  height,  the  paths 
converge." 

Kate  stood  a  moment  longer,  looking  at  him, 
measuring  him. 

"How  splendid  to  be  a  man,"  she  called.  "But 
I'm  glad  I'm  a  woman,"  she  supplemented  hastily. 

"Not  half  so  glad  as  I,  Kate,  my  mate,  —  not  a 
thousandth  part  so  glad  as  I." 

She  held  out  her  arms  to  him.  He  gave  a  great 
laugh  and  plunged  down  the  path.  Kate  swept  her 
glance  once  more  over  the  dark  beauty  of  the 
mountain-tops  —  her  splendid  world,  wrought  with 
illimitable  joy  in  achievement  by  the  Maker  of 
Worlds,  —  and  turning,  ran  down  the  great  rock  that 
led  to  the  trail. 


THE  END 


Ritocwibe  prerfif 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U  .  S  .  A 


HAGAR 

By  Mary  Johnston 

"  Hagar  will  stand  out  as  one  of  the  splendid  woman 
characters  of  modern  fiction  —  serene  and  strong,  an 
ideal  feminist  and  a  thorough  American."  —  Portland 
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"A  splendid  story  .  .  .  not  the  least  part  of  its 
charm  is  that  delightful  atmosphere  of  Virginia  family 
life  with  which  Miss  Johnston's  readers  are  familiar." 
—  Baltimore  Evening  Sun. 

"  A  powerful  plea  for  woman  suffrage  in  the  guise 
of  gripping  fiction."  —  Springfield  Republican. 

"  Feminism  has  never  had  a  more  human  exposition. 
It  is  a  book  notable  for  sane  methods  as  well  as  a 
delightful  plot." — Literary  Digest. 

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Johnston's  creations  and  the  novel  is  a  worthy  addition 
to  Miss  Johnston's  works."  —  Philadelphia  Record. 

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V.  V.'S  EYES 


By  HENRY  SYDNOR  HARRISON 

"'V.  V.'s  Eyes'  is  a  novel  of  so  elevated  a  spirit,  yet 
of  such  strong  interest,  unartificial,  and  uncritical,  that 
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son  definitely  takes  his  place  as  the  one  among  our 
younger  American  novelists  of  whom  the  most  endur 
ing  work  may  be  hoped  for."  —  Springfield  Republican. 


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